SHE WHO WAS 
 HELENA CASS 
 
 LAWRENCE RISING 
 
 OT CALIF. LIBRARY* LOS ANGELES
 
 SHE WHO WAS 
 HELENA CASS 
 
 BY 
 
 LAWRENCE RISING 
 
 NEW ^SJT YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, IQ20, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 TO 
 
 ALICE 
 
 2132380
 
 SHE WHO WAS 
 HELENA CASS
 
 SHE WHO WAS 
 HELENA CASS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 WHO was she ? It was she ! 
 
 As many as eight or ten times, Jay Sefton mused, he 
 had thought he had seen her, but always before he had been 
 mistaken. Sometimes she had been leaving a restaurant or 
 an hotel, or in the act of alighting from a car. Once it had 
 been something in the carriage of a woman's shoulders ; 
 another time it was the quick, bird-like movement of the 
 head; or again the impatient step of a girl crossing the 
 street ; it might be the way a woman propelled herself for- 
 ward against the crowd; or even the cast of features 
 glimpsed through the disfiguring all-over pattern of her veil. 
 
 Each time he had felt the moment of tense excitement 
 which communicated itself to every nerve. He increased 
 his speed or slackened it as the case might be so that he con- 
 tinued abreast of her. But a second glance was always 
 enough to prove his mistake. And following that he ex- 
 perienced an unreasoning anger directed against the woman 
 who had decoyed his hopes. 
 
 The reactions were so regular, so inevitable as to have 
 become almost formulae, wherein each sensation could be 
 tabulated. But once his indignation left him it was suc- 
 
 9
 
 io SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ceeded by a disgust of self, a desire to chuck up everything 
 and get away. New York was unreal. It was a city of 
 ghosts dancing together after the music had ceased. It 
 was like a cinema seen upside down; thousands of silhou- 
 ettes passed, repassed and finally became merged. 
 
 To-day his feelings bore little relation to the abasement 
 of past mistakes. New York was merely a glittering back- 
 ground against which his drama was being enacted. 
 
 Seeing an empty motorcab passing, he had run into the 
 street amid the rush of vehicles and leapt upon the run- 
 ning-board. 
 
 "Overtake the yellow car ahead," he called to the chauf- 
 feur, "and I'll double your fare. 
 
 After Mr. Sefton had sprung inside he remained with 
 his hand on the door, his quickened breath betraying high 
 tension. His eyes followed the yellow car ahead which 
 was nosing its way through the congestion of afternoon 
 traffic as though it knew it had been sighted and was looking 
 for escape. He swore under his breath when a car passed 
 before them blocking his vision. Then he called out : 
 
 "What's the matter with your engine? Can't you make 
 it go?" 
 
 Still the chauffeur gave no response, but inch by inch 
 they ate up the intervening space and he saw they were 
 gaining on the car ahead. If only they weren't held in a 
 block he could overtake the occupant. 
 
 At the thought he felt an excitement hammering in his 
 temples. Was it to come true at last, this search of over 
 three years? He was conscious of a sudden feeling of self- 
 commiseration ; he had been curiously faithful ; for during 
 three years he had not thought of anyone else, seriously. . . . 
 
 He had planned so often what he would do when he 
 found her. For at no time had there been any doubt in 
 his mind but that some day, somewhere, they would con- 
 front each other. And now that the moment seemed immi- 
 nent all his rehearsed effects deserted him. He would 
 want to make himself instantly known to her. He would 
 call her by name.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS n 
 
 They were gaining on the car steadily. This time he 
 could not be eluded. 
 
 It was an afternoon of early September, warm, season- 
 able, not yet giving a hint of the delayed autumn which 
 would recall the city's decorative element waiting at the 
 shore for the blistering pavements to be permanently cooled. 
 Among the myriads of hurrying creatures on the Avenue, 
 intense, humourless, swarming like a tumbled ant hill, there 
 appeared no change. The removal of that small commu- 
 nity of the socially eminent seemed insufficient to explain 
 the want of distinction which characterized the present 
 throng. But already the sight of a woman expertly 
 dressed, colour and line proclaiming her one of that small 
 group whose most casual raiment standardize fashions, was 
 sufficiently rare to catch the glance of the trained ob- 
 server. 
 
 It was indeed just this quality which had held the atten- 
 tion of Jay Sefton. The yellow car he had not recognized 
 nor the pseudo-livery of chauffeur and footman, but the 
 glimpse of the woman in the tonneau had gripped him. 
 She was not alone, but he had not noticed if her com- 
 panion were a man or a woman before deciding pursuit. 
 In a moment he realized that since she had concealed her- 
 self with such amazing success, to make himself known to 
 her meant only to lose her once again. 
 
 Instead he must caution patience. He would follow 
 her unobtrusively, persistently; see where the car went; 
 discover where she was living; find out under what name 
 she had made positive her disguise. Then when all of her 
 pretences had been penetrated and the primary facts of 
 her life were known to him he would appear before her; 
 with the threat of exposure she was not likely to refuse him. 
 After all, why should she refuse him? He was a person- 
 able young man; he possessed means and no outstanding 
 vices. 
 
 He had reached this point in his reasoning when he saw 
 that the traffic ahead had been suddenly halted above 34th 
 Street. The yellow car was at a standstill while the cross-
 
 5 :-:z VTH: 
 
 CASS
 
 HELENA CASS 13 
 
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 i 4 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 her discovery, made public in the afternoon, always proved 
 by morning to be fabrication or hearsay. And each report 
 put under investigation dwindled away to nothing. 
 
 People who had known her claimed they had caught a 
 glimpse of her at Biarritz and Paris. But when they spoke 
 to her she vanished. Detectives, however, discredited 
 these encounters. Of the hordes of young women who 
 maintained that they were she, each in turn was afterwards 
 proven to be a notoriety-seeker or some unaccountable 
 vagrant mind the preposterousness of whose assumption 
 was usually self-evident. 
 
 The capitals of Europe were all acquainted with the 
 same photograph. And the reward announced by her father 
 for her discovery had never been withdrawn, although there 
 was no longer any talk of that. The subject was merely 
 deemed hopeless and discontinued. The photograph 
 taken by Mishkin something over three years ago had been 
 slightly retouched ; perhaps she had not been quite as pretty 
 as the portrait depicted; but Sefton liked best to think 
 of her so. 
 
 Wide, humid eyes, sparkling irresistibly, as though they 
 had just conceived a fresh prank, beneath a broad brow, 
 the entire face framed in masses of thick black hair. The 
 mouth was a little large, but the chin was firm above the 
 splendid pillar of her throat, full and strong as ivory. It 
 was a face that arrested attention because of its arrogant, 
 youthful confidence, its audacity, its resourcefulness. It 
 was not the face of one easily daunted. She had not been 
 the girl to succumb to the blandishments of any trickster. 
 Her entire attitude toward life had been humourous, de- 
 fiant, unafraid. And yet already people had taken to say- 
 ing: 
 
 "I don't suppose we'll ever know what became of her." 
 
 What had become of her? 
 
 If she were still alive beyond doubt someone would have 
 seen her before now. That was always the conclusion he 
 returned to as it was always his starting point. 
 
 Why did Sefton allow her to disturb his life ? He had not
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 15 
 
 been engaged to her. He had not even realised he was in 
 love with her until her disappearance. They had been 
 friends but nothing more. He had danced with her. And 
 how well she danced ! What a sense of fun she possessed ! 
 Her humour had been keen, her irony caustic! Behind 
 them had been sheer joy in living and high spirits. 
 
 The memory of her had become a fetish to him. She 
 was an incubus, not only the subject of his unhappiness but 
 an obstacle to peace. He told himself the result of his 
 infatuation was already incalculable. He had sacrificed 
 three years of his life to a wraith. She could no longer 
 be considered a real person. And yet her name conjured 
 up a personality to the minds of millions of people. One 
 had only to pronounce it to obtain instant attention. 
 
 Poor Helena Cass. Why did it have to be she? . . .
 
 n 
 
 IN passing his club, Sefton signalled the chauffeur to 
 stop, sprang out, paid him and entered. He did not sur- 
 render his hat to the liveried servant in the lower hall, but, 
 following a mannerism of the club, made his way upstairs, 
 still wearing it. Many of the members were not yet back 
 in town, and an air of settled melancholy brooded over the 
 empty lounge and vestibule. 
 
 Being one of the few literary members, Jay Sefton 
 mounted to an upper floor, confident of finding the library 
 deserted. In the half-shaded light of the large, untenanted 
 room he dropped into one of the capacious easy-chairs 
 and threw a leg over the upholstered arm. This trick 
 characterized absorbed thought, while he expelled cylin- 
 ders of smoke through inflated nostrils. He remained in 
 deep pre-occupation, occasionally producing a gold ciga- 
 rette-case, the gift of his publisher, lighting a fresh ciga- 
 rette from the stub of the last, but otherwise his immo- 
 bility continued undisturbed. The afternoon waned, but 
 he did not rouse himself. 
 
 Sefton's success as a novelist had been somewhat in 
 the nature of a foregone conclusion. His "arrival" the 
 winter past had effected a succession of rings on the placid 
 surface of the literary world that had caused a distinct 
 ripple on the shore. Yet in spite of it he now found him- 
 self beset with unexpected difficulties. After the prepara- 
 tory years spent at Sandhurst, the urge of his own country 
 had proved too strong and he had left England, where 
 he had lived as a boy, and returned to America. A feeling 
 of sentiment had made him wish to claim the same alma 
 mater which had been successive links in the life of his 
 father and several generations of Seftons before him. 
 
 At college he had shown just those brilliant qualities 
 
 16
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 17 
 
 wfiich were likely to electrify a class-room and in a course 
 of literary construction his fellow students felt they were 
 listening to the work of a man who would become one of 
 the great men of letters of his day. It was therefore a 
 distinct disappointment that, following post-graduate work, 
 when his first novel appeared it caused scarcely a murmur. 
 A few reviews spoke of it giving "distinct promise," but the 
 work itself was self-conscious, and the theme not one to 
 rouse enthusiasm. A year later the second book appeared 
 and while this was achieved with a more mature and finished 
 artistry again the subject was one in itself to preclude 
 popularity. 
 
 It was not until the appearance of the third book that 
 the name of Jay Sefton became universally known. The 
 success of "Unexposed" was like no other success since 
 "Trilby"; it combined an extraordinary theme, human, 
 compelling, with a vigour of style and a forceful expression 
 whereby the other books of the season seemed a mere 
 fluidity. The success of "Unexposed" made him eager to 
 attack a fourth book, and a theme which had long inter- 
 ested him began to elaborate itself in his brain. It was 
 after "Unexposed" had passed through its fourth edition 
 that he one day paid a visit to his publisher to outline to 
 him the structure of the new book. But this was received 
 with almost immediate rebuff. 
 
 "Don't go to work too rapidly, Mr. Sefton," he cautioned. 
 "You have gained an immense public. Don't lose it. This 
 idea would disappoint the readers of 'Unexposed.' You 
 have been given a responsibility which must be fulfilled. 
 Your two earlier books were almost as fine pieces of work 
 as your last. The difference in their popularity is that 
 your last dealt with a very human situation and your first 
 two didn't. Write this book you have planned, later on, 
 just for your own pleasure. And in the meantime be on 
 the lookout for a subject which will duplicate "Unexposed." 
 
 And so for the past six months Jay Sefton had resigned 
 himself to looking for a human view of life to satisfy 
 nearly a million readers, not knowing that his search in
 
 1 8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 itself was likely to defeat all plans of its fulfilment. Ideas 
 had come flocking to him, one after another, each to be 
 weighed, considered and then be discarded as not interesting 
 to his public. 
 
 It was not until a few weeks ago that the story of Helena 
 Cass had suggested a theme ready to his hand. The com- 
 plexities which shrouded his subject only increased ten- 
 fold his own interest. He would write of a young man 
 who became enamoured with a young woman after she 
 had been lost to the world and her friends. So great 
 would his affection become that it gradually usurped all 
 other interests, and he resigned his business and began a 
 systematic search for her. Her own parents and friends 
 would come under the microscope of his inspection, until out 
 of the most incomprehensible details he was able to adduce 
 data which finally led to her discovery, and the suppressed 
 reasons which had brought about her misadventure. In 
 the first flare-up of the thought Sefton decided that he 
 would make use of his imagination to solve the three 
 years' quandary, but later he was determined to discover 
 Miss Cass herself, and use those facts as a nucleus for his 
 story. 
 
 He felt his face flush now at the ugliness of the idea, as 
 he regarded it impartially. What could be more tasteless 
 than making use of a celebrated case as a means of foster- 
 ing his own career? His need to discover what had hap- 
 pened to the girl was the response of a more personal 
 group of imperatives than the mere urge of "copy." There 
 was no denying the emotion now that he surrendered to it. 
 He had been attracted to several women in the past, though 
 such claims had not been lasting, but this present one was 
 not to be put aside. He was in love. ... He admitted 
 shamefacedly that it was his failure to experience its in- 
 dividual poignancy before that had been found lacking in 
 his work. . . . That was what his reputed literary ''cold- 
 ness" amounted to. ... 
 
 Sefton stretched his long legs and recrossed them indo- 
 lently. In the late twenties, tall, of a splendid length of
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 19 
 
 limb, blond, with a freshness of colour and a level blue 
 gaze, his eyes had moments of uncommon charm and of 
 complete absorption. His trait of somewhat persistent 
 aloofness did not make for favour, many disputing his un- 
 derstanding of the men and women in his books whom he 
 shunned in real life. There was a nice precision about his 
 speech that never suffered relapse, and for the most part 
 a certain "niceness" about his thoughts. It may have been 
 because of this that his friends questioned his possessing 
 what they termed the "human touch" when what they 
 meant was the use of a grosser word. 
 
 Sefton remained with his eyes fixed upon the darkening 
 walls, whilst without the vague September dusk, like an 
 impalpable mist, clustered outside the club windows. When 
 a moment later an attendant entered and switched on the 
 lights in the reading-lamp at his elbow, he scarcely noticed 
 the change. 
 
 His mind once more at work in the old involute wan- 
 derings asking himself again: 
 
 "How could she vanish utterly? . . . To think they never 
 found her bag, or any article of clothing, or jewelry, not 
 even her drawing-box. Even thought it had been suicide 
 how could she disappear as though she had never been . . . 
 and for three years . . ." 
 
 He checked himself. Each conjecture was a blind alley, 
 a part of the great general pattern of the labyrinth in which 
 he had lost himself for months. There was only one 
 way of freeing himself from an obsession which had be- 
 come as insidious as the grip of a malignant disease. 
 
 He caught up his hat, ran downstairs and out, signalled 
 a taxicab from the club stand, and a moment later was 
 being driven up Fifth Avenue. He dismissed the cab at 
 the corner of Eightieth Street and walked briskly to Madi- 
 son Avenue. Here he crossed the avenue and allowed 
 his footsteps to become more deliberate as he drew near 
 the house. 
 
 It was some time since he had seen it, but he had never 
 forgotten its general appearance. No. 33 was situated on
 
 20 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 the north side of the street, midway between Madison and 
 Park, an undetached brick structure, in no way an un- 
 usual town house. It did not look new, yet it could not be 
 thirty years old, since it had escaped the brownstone period. 
 It was modest, unobtrusive, with green shutters and a 
 diminutive balcony upheld by Georgian columns of white 
 limestone at the front door. It was set back a few yards 
 from the pavement, protected by a fence of iron palings, 
 behind which grew a hedge of well-trimmed privet. A 
 semi-circle of white marguerites, red geraniums and lobelia 
 ornamented the balcony. The house was three-storied, the 
 windows hung with half-curtains in both the upper and 
 lower sashes. In the basement was a grilled window, and 
 sunken stairs led to a door connected with the servants' 
 gate. 
 
 Sefton would have liked to linger before the house, since 
 there were lights within, but, aware of already having at- 
 tracted the attention of the night-watchman on the corner, 
 he moved on. The man was evidently in the employ of 
 the Cass household, as they doubtless had occasion to have 
 the house protected from unbridled curiosity following the 
 newspaper investigations. Now that Sefton had refreshed 
 his memory of the house, Miss Cass's disappearance 
 seemed to him more incomprehensible than ever. He found 
 himself wondering if perhaps she had not been lost at all, 
 but was concealed within for reasons of which the public 
 was uninformed. 
 
 He retraced his steps slowly toward Madison Avenue 
 while every detail of No. 33 pressed itself indelibly 
 upon his mind. It was just the sort of a house in which 
 one would not expect anything to occur. And that elusive 
 quality in itself of the expensive, the comfortable and yet 
 commonplace was the ideal setting for the drama. 
 
 The street was deserted, and realising that his progress, 
 halting and apparently without objective, remained under 
 the eye of the night watchman, he stepped inside the portico 
 of an apartment building directly opposite. Here in the 
 doorway he was outside the man's line of vision, and it
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 21 
 
 gave him an opportunity to take one last look at the house 
 of mystery before returning to the club. 
 
 As he stood there self-absorbed in his interest watching 
 the lighted windows, shaded and shadowless, he was sud- 
 denly aware of someone standing at his elbow. 
 
 "Pardon me, sir, you wished to see the apartment?" 
 
 Jay Sefton looked at the little man at his side, precise, 
 courteous, evidently a renting agent. 
 
 The night watchman was pacing slowly by and had come 
 to a full stop in the doorway. 
 
 "Yes," Sefton agreed, aware that being under observa- 
 tion had contributed to his consecutiveness. "How many 
 rooms has it?" 
 
 "Four. It's fully furnished and a great bargain. This 
 way, please." 
 
 He was led to a lift encrusted with wedgewood medal- 
 lions and mirror-lined which carried him to the fifth floor. 
 Here the agent crossed the hall, inserted a key and unlocked 
 a door. Putting an arm inside the casement, he felt for the 
 switch and turned up the lights. 
 
 "Go right in. There's no one here. This is a bachelor 
 apartment. The party who owns it has been called out of 
 town on business and asked us to do what we could to sub- 
 let it furnished. It was used by a bachelor, but it's large 
 enough for a married couple." 
 
 Sefton entered a square hall, lighted dimly from above 
 by an old Italian lantern. The walls were hung with three 
 Flemish tapestries, and the only furniture was an old wall 
 fountain, a console and two chairs. 
 
 "This is the sitting-room." 
 
 He followed the agent into a large space, enclosed by 
 grey, unlittered walls, the room grouped with furniture of 
 heavy old English tables and easy chairs. There was a 
 rotary bookcase and a broad writing table placed before a 
 bow-window. 
 
 Sefton strode across the room and held aside the 
 curtains to look out. The windows commanded a compre- 
 hensive view of Mr. Cass's house. No one could enter or
 
 22 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 leave undetected by anyone watching from those windows. 
 ie turned back to survey the room once more: there was 
 a deep hearth with logs, and even the books on the shelves 
 showed a taste which was not an affliction. It was the 
 sitting-room which attracted him although he gave a glance 
 at the dining-room and bedroom. 
 
 "If the apartment answers your requirements, and you're 
 a single man, I could get you the Japanese servant the last 
 party had. He was here to see me yesterday about a job. 
 He's a very good gentleman's valet and general servant, sir. 
 He doesn't sleep in the apartment but there's a room for 
 him at the top of the house. It's a bargain, sir, if you can 
 use it." 
 
 Sefton asked him the price. He realised after it 
 was quoted to him that it was surprisingly cheap. He had 
 returned to the sitting-room and stood looking out the 
 window at the lights of Mr. Cass's house across the street. 
 
 Then he said succinctly: 
 
 "I'll take it."
 
 Ill 
 
 JAY SEFTON supplied his name and address, his banker's 
 and those of his publishers and tailor as guarantors of his 
 solvency. Three days later, the references having been 
 investigated and found adequate, a lease was sent him which 
 he signed, and at the end of a week the transfer had been 
 made and he removed from the Club to East Both Street. 
 
 S. Fuis, the diminutive Japanese, returned to past sur- 
 roundings under new directorship, proved one of those rare 
 domestics, a capable gentleman's man who kept Mr. Sef- 
 ton's clothes pressed, his boots treed, and his bath ready. 
 If the small brown man was less successful as cook he at 
 least accomplished the seemingly incredible in combining 
 the offices of three servants in one. 
 
 He found upon closer inspection that the apartment, in- 
 stead of not living up to first impressions, very much sur- 
 passed them. The rooms were furnished with a complete- 
 ness which left nothing to be supplemented, and a second 
 view of the bookshelves quickened the novelist's inter- 
 est in the previous tenant. But living face to face with 
 33 East Eightieth Street made continued thought of any- 
 one other than his neighbours negligible. 
 
 Late one afternoon, reproaching himself with wasting 
 time and doubtful of the outcome of his experiment, 
 he bethought himself of a spinster cousin of his whom he 
 suspected had returned to town and whom he was conscious 
 of having neglected. She was a middle-aged woman, who 
 was given to spending her winters in New York, where she 
 lived in Park Avenue in a diminutive apartment, dependent 
 on the services of a single maid. The woman enjoyed a 
 slight income which allowed her to live in a small way, 
 with a few retracted months in town followed by summers 
 of visiting a succession of New England relatives. He en- 
 
 23
 
 24 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 tered the vestibule conscious that he would at least be in 
 time for a cup of tea. As she opened the door to receive 
 him and he crossed the narrow hall to her sitting-room, he 
 felt a moment's annoyance to see he was not the only 
 visitor. 
 
 "Come in, Jay. I want you to meet Mrs. Slaterlee. This 
 is my cousin Jay Sefton." 
 
 A lady seated in the shadow of an immense samovar 
 on the tea table raised an ungloved hand : 
 
 "I've read 'Unexposed,' " she said in a voice that carried 
 both strength and sincerity, "and I want to tell you what I 
 think of it." 
 
 "Mrs. Slaterlee," interrupted his cousin, "holds the chair 
 of English Literature at Vassar, so that her liking your 
 book really means something." 
 
 A few moments later the subject of his book was 
 seemingly exhausted, but Mrs. Slaterlee continued with its 
 discussion with some persistence. 
 
 "You have a Gallic touch which I admire. The idea that 
 life should be written about as it is never lived is so tire- 
 some. Why should all fiction become desexualized ?" 
 
 "You mustn't look to me for the answer." 
 
 "After all, the strongest emotion of which we are capable 
 is self-preservation, the second is propagation, and the third 
 is the parental love of offspring. Why should literature 
 ignore that set of feelings which account for our being here? 
 I'm not old-fashioned. I believe in rather plain language. 
 I tell my students not to approach their work with a blush 
 and a giggle. And not to make their observations through 
 a veil. I have one rather talented student. She's an im- 
 mense admirer of yours. Her people live next door to 
 your club and she tells me she's often seen you in the win- 
 dow writing." 
 
 Sefton laughed. 
 
 "Not now," he said. "I've moved. I'm living in East 8oth 
 Street" 
 
 "The apartment building on the South Side?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 25 
 
 "I remember when the building was being constructed. 
 But I haven't been in that street in three years. I used to 
 have friends who lived opposite you." 
 
 "The Casses?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did you ever know Miss Helena?" 
 
 "She was one of my girls at Vassar. I knew her par- 
 ticularly well, or at least I thought I did. In fact, I 
 chaperoned her with two others on that last trip abroad. 
 That was a lamentable affair, wasn't it ?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "But it seems futile to talk about it now." 
 
 Then glancing at her watch at her wrist, she saw the 
 time and rose. After her leave-taking with her friend she 
 turned to Sefton. 
 
 "I shall tell my students I have shaken hands with the 
 great man. I am looking forward to your next book al- 
 ready. Don't do the way all other novelists do become 
 careless and acquisitive, and turn out a flood of disap- 
 pointing work. You've set a standard and we won't be 
 satisfied with anything below it." 
 
 As Sefton signified his intention of leaving with her, 
 his cousin protested : 
 
 "Jay, you're not going too ? Why, I've hardly seen you." 
 
 As he reached the pavement with Mrs. Slaterlee at his 
 side, he enquired if he should have a taxicab called since he 
 saw there was no car waiting for her. 
 
 "No. Let us walk. I love the late November days in 
 New York. Are you going downtown?" 
 
 He assented automatically and they started South. 
 
 "After the routine of Vassar," she remarked, "an occa- 
 sional week-end in town is in the nature of a dissipation to 
 me. I come up quite often while the opera is here for a 
 Saturday night performance. I'm particularly fond of 
 French opera." 
 
 "So am I. But one can't hope to hear it at the Metro- 
 politan where Italian influences are so strong. But the 
 next time there is something I wish you'd let me take you."
 
 26 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 He had been looking at Mrs. Slaterlee by each successive 
 street lamp they passed and decided that she was frankly 
 middle-aged so that she would not resent his invitation. 
 
 "And if you ever overcome your aversion to East Both 
 Street sufficiently to call on the Casses I wish you'd allow 
 me to accompany you." 
 
 He was surprised at his own audacity in this last request 
 but his companion seemed not to notice it, and took up his 
 remark quite literally. 
 
 "Are the Casses friends of yours?" 
 
 "No. But we have mutual friends." 
 
 "Just what can one do in a position like ours ? I hope her 
 family don't feel I've neglected them because they're in 
 trouble. But what can one say? One can't sympathise. 
 One doesn't wish to pry. There doesn't seem to be any 
 code of behaviour which covers the case of a mysterious 
 disappearance. And so this awful pall of silence endures. 
 I couldn't go to see them and ignore all mention of Helena. 
 She was the only member of the family I knew at all well, 
 or was in any way attached to. If there is anything I 
 could do I would like to do it. But I can't go to see a 
 mother and daughter who refuse all mention of Helena, 
 who dress in half mourning and tacitly agree the girl is 
 dead. If I knew Helena were dead it would be a different 
 matter. But I don't, and I don't even know that they do or 
 whether they merely hope she is. So I have remained 
 away through sheer embarrassment in an awkward situa- 
 tion and I believe most of their friends have done the 
 same." 
 
 "I wish you'd tell me something about Miss Cass." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Her disposition, the type of girl she represented. One 
 hears such conflicting accounts. And now that she's dea3, 
 if she is dead, there seems no contradicting them." 
 
 "You've asked a very poor person for an account of her. 
 You see, I knew all of Helena's faults and shortcomings. 
 I was alive to every one of them. And those were points 
 on which the press were sedulously silent. They wanted
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 275 
 
 the right kind of 'story' at all costs. I was very fond of 
 Helena. She was a splendid sort of girl in a curious way. 
 Without being masculine she was like a very fine boy. 
 Generous, large-hearted, devoid of all small feeling, full 
 of life and energy and a tremendous curiosity to know the 
 world. She was magnetic, not beautiful, and as a man she 
 would have been loved by everyone. She was a human 
 dynamo. If she could only have played football and been 
 stroke oar on the Yale crew she would have used up all 
 her superfluous energy which, unfortunately, went into 
 other channels." 
 
 "You arouse my curiosity." 
 
 "Helena was intensely 'modern,' but I don't use the 
 word in its unpleasant sense. She was not modern in a 
 neurotic way, like the quantities of girls who wish to release 
 their souls and do so by removing all clothing but two yards 
 of chiffon and then persist in dancing in public out of 
 doors. One may call that 'modern,' but there is a word 
 that describes it more accurately. Such abysses would 
 never have suggested themselves to Helena. Her desire 
 was to live, to experience, to see life. If she had only 
 cared for work she could have matriculated for the literary 
 tripos and the highest honours. She possessed brain enough 
 and concentration, but she didn't want to work. She could 
 do rather better than the average without study. She 
 really enjoyed languages. She spoke an excellent French 
 for an American, German and some Spanish. She had a 
 pleasant voice, was a born mimic. She took part in our 
 plays and was quite an exceptional amateur actress. But 
 she wouldn't have worked hard enough to go on the stage. 
 She was never aware of rivalry and all the girls liked her." 
 
 "This sounds only like praise." 
 
 "Her weak points " and Mrs. Slaterlee smiled rue- 
 fully. "Helena was utterly unmanageable. She was worse 
 than the traditional handful. All her life she had never 
 been curbed. She was like a race horse that had never been 
 taken out of the stable." 
 
 "She could make time?"
 
 28 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "She ran away with one. She never saw barriers. She 
 simply leapt them. And by this I don't mean she was fast. 
 In spite of her seeming sophistication she was a child at 
 heart. She was unafraid and didn't realise risks. I never 
 knew her until she came to Vassar. Before that she had 
 been at boarding school and was expected to make her 
 debut in society. It was because of her father that this 
 plan miscarried." 
 
 "Were she and her father friends?" 
 "I see you've heard. That's why you ask me?" 
 "No. On my honour. It's only from observation. I've 
 seen Mr. Cass and I wondered." 
 
 "He and Helena were all but arch enemies. She realised 
 he was a ridiculous, tyrannical man with a point of view 
 of 1860. Mentally she was more than a match for him. 
 She did not respect his financial meanness and his mental 
 posturings. He saw himself as a sort of hero of romance, a 
 Count d'Orsay, a Barbey D'Aurenvilly. To her he was an 
 absurd old poseur, who wore the clothes of a young blade. 
 They were hostile and antagonistic to each other, she be- 
 cause he attempted a crushing authority, and he because he 
 was not equal to Her ridicule. So she was sent to Vassar to 
 have her away from home. Her vacations were mostly 
 spent with her friends. I believe she attempted to control 
 Herself when under the parental roof but without much 
 success. But during those periods her mother was miser- 
 able and her younger sister in tears. I blame Helena for 
 being utterly unfilial, and yet I agree with her. Mr. Cass 
 is a caricature." 
 
 She continued to walk in silence, and then she added : 
 "I have just been thinking what a character she would 
 have been. A sort of splendid young rebel, but people 
 would probably prefer to read of more dutiful children. I 
 can't begin to tell you the tricks she played at Vassar. She 
 broke every rule of the college, I think, simply because rules 
 annoyed her. Probably if she had been allowed perfect 
 freedom she wouldn't have cared for it." 
 
 Since urging her on to this subject Mr. Sefton had made
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 29 
 
 scarcely a remark, fearing to distract her attention. He 
 realised he was listening to a woman whose opinions he 
 could accept as true. Now as they reached her hotel, a 
 modest building in West 47th Street, they hesitated for a 
 moment on the pavement, until noticing an attendant had 
 opened the door for them, she said : 
 
 "Won't you come in for a few minutes ?" 
 
 "Just for a minute," he agreed. 
 
 They crossed the lounge, she leading to a small writing 
 room which was deserted. 
 
 "From the first Helena always reminded me of a sort 
 of modern Diana. She looked like one. Her photographs 
 were really quite unlike. She had sparkling eyes, bright, 
 eloquent, a trifle too large for her face, surrounded by a 
 good deal of white, and the thickest black hair. She stood 
 well, walked well. And one felt she was beautiful be- 
 cause she was so sound and such a perfect young animal. 
 Yet she was not the sort of woman to marry and prolif- 
 erate and become the conventional mother with subor- 
 dinate interests. I remember thinking this when she 
 was a student and wondering what would become of her. 
 And I thought then that though matrimony would not 
 satisfy her, neither would spinsterhood, and that she could 
 only remain the eternal Diana by dying young." 
 
 "Did no man ever enter her life?" 
 
 "Now you are thinking of Mr. Buel." 
 
 "Of course I know what the press printed. They 
 strongly suggested that it was a case of 'find the man.' " 
 
 "Yes, but the man was found. Detectives haven't taken 
 an eye off of him since. His mail has been opened, his 
 wire tapped, and he himself followed, but there's never 
 been a trace of his hearing from her or being in communi- 
 cation with her directly." 
 
 "Where is Buel now ?" 
 
 "He still lives in Detroit, I believe. Your interest in 
 this is not one of gossip, is it, Mr. Sefton?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Then I will tell you, confidentially, a few facts. It's
 
 30 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 such a long time since I've spoken of Helena. You don't 
 know what a relief it is to my conscience that I was no 
 longer responsible for her when she was lost. If I had been 
 I don't know what I would have done." 
 
 The fact that he was obtaining evidence he had first 
 thought to put to public use for the moment caused him no 
 disquietude. He felt an insatiable hunger to know just what 
 had transpired, in which the author was apostate beside 
 the detective within him. After all there could be nothing 
 more engrossing than the business of following up a clue 
 which had long been discarded and find the solution him- 
 self. 
 
 "When Helena was in her senior year, an uncle of one 
 of the girls came down to college to see her. He was not 
 a particularly attractive man, forty or thereabouts, large, 
 a rather heavy, settled type. A man who'd had his youth 
 though he might not have spent it prodigally, he seemed to 
 have forfeited it in some way. The man was somewhat 
 ponderous, not cerebral like Helena, apparently moderate, 
 easy going. A sound sleeper who lived within the radius 
 of a good digestion and a frequent after-dinner nap. He 
 was the last man in the world to attract a high spirited, girl 
 like Helena." 
 
 "This was Jordan Buel?" 
 
 "Yes. You're surprised?" 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 "Well, you would have been more so if you had seen 
 him. He seemed pre-eminently safe ; as much so as though 
 he had been the father of the girl. He was a sort of father 
 to Birdie Hyde. She was an orphan, an unimaginative 
 little thing, the usual type cut out according to pattern. Mr. 
 Jordan Buel and a married brother were her uncles and paid 
 for her education. As a matter of duty he came to college 
 once or twice a year. Birdie hardly knew him, wasn't at 
 her ease and didn't know what to talk about. She intro- 
 duced Mr. Buel to Helena as the brightest girl she knew. 
 He seems to have been the first man Helena had ever met. 
 The others were boys, or else men so old that they might
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 31 
 
 have been of her own sex so far as any attraction of the 
 male for the female is concerned." 
 
 "Did you suspect she was interested?" 
 
 "Not really. I believe he sent her up a box of sweets 
 from Sherry's after his return. And later he found reason 
 for coming back and always he devoted himself to her. 
 He was there at graduation and by that time it seems they 
 considered themselves engaged." 
 
 "Engaged?" 
 
 "This is a new version to you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, I've always blamed Jordan Buel. He was old enough 
 even if he were not a man of the world ; he could not have 
 been so ignorant that he did not know that he should have 
 come first to Mr. Cass and told him of his intentions and 
 asked permission. But it is impossible to expect anything 
 more than the code of savages of some of our countrymen. 
 And perhaps Helena would not have allowed it. Anyway, 
 after her graduation Helena was once more at home. Mr. 
 Buel followed her to New York, called on her and was 
 presented to her family. Mr. Cass wished to know who the 
 man was and why he was coming to the house. It never 
 seems to have occurred to him that one of his daughters 
 should marry. When Helena told him they were engaged 
 that naturally precipitated a crisis. The man was debarred 
 the house and Helena was instructed to give him his 
 conge. At first she refused to do this and there were 
 scenes, recriminations, denunciations and tears. But the 
 tears, you may be sure, were never Helena's. She was 
 not hysterical. Her engagement ring, a mammoth emerald- 
 cut diamond, disappeared. She was supposed to have given 
 it back to Mr. Buel but she didn't. I believe she always 
 wore it when she had her gloves on as a matter of senti- 
 ment. She wished to feel that a part of her was encircled 
 by something which was his. ..." 
 
 She paused in her narrative, looked about the room and 
 then her glance returned to Sefton's eyes, which were 
 watching every movement of her lips with interest.
 
 32 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "At this time I was taking Vida Newbolt and Carimai 
 Evans abroad, when Helena and Airs. Cass beseeched me 
 to allow Helena to come with us. I explained that our 
 reservations had been made; we had our tickets and our 
 entire itinerary was planned, and that another person would 
 upset our calculations. Still they insisted. Since Helena's 
 falling out with her father life at home was out of the 
 question, as he had become futilely abusive and unending 
 in his demands, and she had become scornful and ironic. 
 It was, in fact, after a great deal of pleading on Mrs. Cass's 
 side, that she had gained her husband's consent to let 
 Helena leave, and then under the arrangement that Mrs. 
 Cass pay for Helena's trip out of her own money. I weak- 
 ened and agreed, although I knew from past experience 
 that I wouldn't have much peace and I would never know 
 where the girl was. She managed to get a stateroom from 
 someone who had cancelled passage at the last moment and 
 was ready on twenty-four hours' notice. ..." 
 
 Again she stopped, and this time Sefton noticed 
 that her eyes sought her watch and he was aware of having 
 remained longer than had been expected. He wondered 
 if he was detaining Mrs. Slaterlee from dressing for din- 
 ner or if she had some engagement for the evening. But 
 he made no movement of leave-taking and she continued 
 her story. 
 
 It was a quarter of an hour later that he rose. Mrs. 
 Slaterlee had now told him what she had never uttered 
 before, either to Mrs. Cass or Helena's friends, to the press 
 or the detective who had interrogated her upon her re- 
 turn from Europe. Sefton realised that he possessed facts 
 that had never been made public and which no one who had 
 searched systematically for the girl had ever been ac- 
 quainted with. When he left the hotel it was with a feeling 
 of triumph. With the information about Miss Cass given 
 him that evening, he knew it was well within his power to 
 find her.
 
 BOOK II 
 
 IV 
 
 Miss CASS was the last person to come aboard after sail- 
 ing time. The gangplank was held while she kissed her 
 mother and sister, and then ran up a second before the 
 ropes were cast off. 
 
 Mrs. Slaterlee felt a moment's contrition when she re- 
 called the objections she had raised to Helena's joining 
 them, as Miss Cass made her way to the little party standing 
 beside the crowded rail. She was conscious that although 
 the girl was not really pretty she was already a centre of 
 interest. 
 
 She greeted Mrs. Slaterlee and her two charges with 
 unfeigned delight, which made Mrs. Slaterlee feel that after 
 all she had been very unfair to this young lady. They re- 
 mained for several minutes at the rail, waving perfunctory 
 farewells, although they were no longer able to distinguish 
 anyone left on the dock. 
 
 "I thought we had lost you," Mrs. Slaterlee remarked. 
 
 "I'm always late," Helena confessed, voicing a chronic 
 weakness, "but I've never missed a train or a boat in my 
 life." 
 
 There was something engaging in the candour with which 
 she named her frailties. 
 
 "Let me carry your bag, if you'll trust me with it." 
 
 A moment later they had gone below to the writing-room 
 where Mrs. Slaterlee and her two girls hastily secured the 
 three last writing tables to indite farewell notes. 
 
 "It will only take me a few moments," Mrs. Slaterlee 
 explained, "and then you may have my table." 
 
 33
 
 34 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Don't hurry. I have no one to write to. I said good- 
 bye to mother and Annis only a few minutes ago, and I 
 won't repeat it." 
 
 She had settled herself in an easy chair where a revolv- 
 ing electric fan played upon her, which caught loosened 
 tendrils of her hair and kept them astir about her face like a 
 darkened nimbus. Mrs. Slaterlee, watching her from time 
 to time above a recalcitrant pen, felt she had never seen the 
 girl looking more provocative and utterly charming. She 
 felt Miss Cass was in far too reasonable a humour to be 
 quite safe, and yet the expression of her face was one of 
 mobile contentment. 
 
 Later that evening she tapped on Mrs. Slaterlee's door 
 and entered her stateroom, to ask if she could administer 
 to her comfort, since the four ladies were travelling with- 
 out the assistance of a maid. Miss Cass was already 
 dressed for dinner, and, like many women who are not 
 beautiful, her bared throat and arms brought unsuspected 
 perfections into view, and by some curious chemistry 
 turned her shortcomings into added charms. Mrs. Slater- 
 lee had never possessed a personal maid, and was rather 
 in doubt as to her duties. However, it was safer to keep 
 Helena under her eye, so she handed her the bodice of 
 her dinner dress with instructions to take a stitch in a frill 
 of lace in the neck and sleeves. 
 
 Following dinner there was still little motion on board 
 as the ship plowed through the illimitable expanse, not un- 
 like dark meadows, which broke into constant blossom 
 suggesting hedgerows of white thorn and fields of scat- 
 tered daisies. A cooler wind now met them, and the four 
 travellers spent a" hour solemnly stretched out in a row 
 under wraps on the deck chairs. By quarter to ten they 
 were all glad to end an interminable evening by retiring. 
 
 Miss Cass had her breakfast served in her stateroom 
 next morning and did not rise until late. When Mrs. 
 Slaterlee went in search of her at mid-day, she found that 
 Helena had quit her room nor did an exhaustive investiga- 
 tion reveal any trace of her. She was not on deck, in the
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 35 
 
 salons, writing-rooms nor in the Ritz restaurant. It was 
 some time before she was found sitting on the stairs to 
 the bridge talking earnestly to a large, broad-shouldered 
 man in white flannels. 
 
 Mrs. Slaterlee, coming upon them suddenly, felt there 
 was something familiar in the expanse of shoulder and 
 thick, dark hair of the man watching Helena, his face 
 completely in shadow from his cap drawn down over his 
 eyes. It was not until Mrs. Slaterlee called Helena that 
 he rose, and as he faced her she saw that the girl's com- 
 panion was Mr. Jordan Buel. 
 
 He pulled off his cap, and in spite of the fact that the 
 man was plainly forty, or thereabouts, he betrayed a cer- 
 tain boyishness, as though he had been discovered breaking 
 some rule for which he was about to be reproved. 
 
 Helena attempted no explanations; she merely laughed. 
 It was a tantalising trick of hers. 
 
 "Mrs. Slaterlee, you remember Mr. Buel," she said, as 
 though there was nothing unusual in the meeting. 
 
 "I remember him perfectly." 
 
 "I thought you would." 
 
 "I've just been looking for you. Will you come to my 
 stateroom for a minute?" 
 
 "Do you think you have acted quite honourably?" she 
 asked when they were out of earshot. 
 
 "Honourably?" 
 
 She repeated the word as though nonplussed. 
 
 "You are not going to tell me you didn't know Mr. Buel 
 was sailing by the same ship." 
 
 "I didn't." 
 
 Helena spoke earnestly. Then her face broke once more 
 into smiles. 
 
 "You promise me you didn't know?" 
 
 There was satisfaction in the realisation that under m> 
 conditions would Helena resort to subterfuge or a lie. Be- 
 side Miss Evans and Miss Newbolt her faults were legion, 
 but whereas Mrs. Slaterlee knew they were not above mis-
 
 36 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 representation, at least Helena was brutally truthful at all 
 times. 
 
 "No. I didn't know really. I told him I was going with 
 you, and I knew he would try to book passage if it were 
 possible. But he didn't let me know and I wasn't positive 
 until this morning." 
 
 "Do you think you're pleasing your family in this?" 
 
 "If you mean father, then I must tell you I haven't the 
 power of pleasing him. I can never remember having done 
 so." 
 
 "I am supposedly taking you abroad to get you beyond 
 the influence of this man." 
 
 "I can't get beyond his influence. I love him," 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 "Of course. I wouldn't look at him if I didn't." 
 
 "But it isn't as though you were engaged." 
 
 "We are!" 
 
 She lifted her left hand, and Mrs. Slaterlee saw that the 
 great navette-shaped diamond was on her third finger; it 
 was the only jewel she wore. 
 
 "You don't seem to realise my position. I am respon- 
 sible for you until your safe return. If I had known Mr. 
 Buel was on board I would have refused to let you accom- 
 pany us. I think you knew I didn't want you, anyway." 
 
 "Don't be horrid." 
 
 "Why wasn't Mr. Buel's name on the sailing list? He's 
 not travelling under another name, is he?" 
 
 "Of course not. He .took passage too late to be down." 
 
 "Where was he last night at dinner?" 
 
 "He dined early in the regular dining-room, not in the 
 Ritz. He thought he'd lie low until to-day. He stands 
 terribly in awe of you. He's afraid you'll have him thrown 
 overboard." 
 
 "Are you never going to grow up, Helena ?" Mrs. Slater- 
 lee asked, a touch of acerbity in her voice. "You're 
 twenty already. Either you promise me not to see Mr. Buel 
 again alone, or I send a wireless back by Cape Race to 
 your father that he is on board. I give you your choice !"
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 37 
 
 "You wouldn't do that !" 
 
 "I shall, unless you promise. Then the responsibility 
 will no longer be mine." 
 
 "I promise, of course." 
 
 But Mrs. Slaterlee did not find this arrangement as all 
 encompassing as she had supposed. For while Miss Cass 
 and Jordan Buel were no longer alone together, she found 
 them able to converse with each other without the use of 
 a spoken word. Their eyes and hands seemed to express 
 their feelings, oblivious to her presence. And as they paced 
 the deck three abreast she forgot that her charge was a 
 naughty girl, and Mr. Buel had played his game unfairly; 
 she was conscious only that they were lovers, and of feeling 
 odious and de trop. She was unable to interpret the glances 
 which they sent quivering across her person, and regretted 
 that she had allowed Mrs. Cass's pleadings to soften her 
 own resolve. 
 
 Nor could she give all her attention to Helena, for 
 though she never caught Caramai or Vida pursuing any 
 obvious flirtation, she was still aware that they had made 
 the acquaintance of several gentlemen on board in devious 
 ways. It was therefore a relief when Cherbourg was 
 reached without mishap, and four hours later the boat -train 
 to Paris drew into the Gare St. Lazare. Mr. Buel had 
 been instructed that the ladies were stopping at the Hotel 
 Meurice and that he was expected to seek quarters in an- 
 other hostelry not of their neighbourhood. After being 
 interminably detained by the Customs, they drove off in a 
 small omnibus, their trunks on the roof, to their hotel in 
 the Rue de Rivoli. 
 
 Here they were comfortably installed in a suite of three 
 rooms high up at the rear of the building, their windows 
 giving on to a panorama of roofs and chimney-pots of 
 Paris. It was the first excursion abroad of both Vida and 
 Caramai, and for their joint benefit days were planned 
 at which mornings spent at the Louvre were followed by 
 hurried returns for luncheon, to be superseded by refreshed 
 attacks upon the art of Paris. Two evenings a week were
 
 38 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 solemnly consecrated to a baignoire at the Frangais or 
 Odeon in order to familiarise themselves with the language. 
 Mrs. Slaterlee usually held a copy of the play and glanced 
 through the succeeding scenes during entre-acts. 
 
 Helena's mind, at such times, was with Mr. Buel, who 
 was probably listening to the new opera at the Comique or 
 witnessing a very daring piece at the Varietes, to which 
 all Paris was crowding. However, she had asked to be- 
 come one of the party and so continued the ceaseless round, 
 obedient, without protest. This continued for over a fort- 
 night, when one afternoon Mrs. Slaterlee remarked that 
 their itinerary included a visit to des Invalides, the Musee 
 de Cluny and Hotel de Ville. This time Miss Cass openly 
 rebelled. Her familiarity with Paris made it impossible to 
 enjoy the city as a tripper, and she begged permission 
 not to accompany them, but be allowed to pay her respects 
 to a friend who had an hotel in Avenue Kleber. 
 
 Miss Cass had suddenly bethought herself of the Mar- 
 quise de Lanel and decided to see her. Madame de Lanel 
 was an acquaintance Miss Cass had made a couple of years 
 previous on a Mediterranean liner, who, at that time, had 
 been a Miss Edith Doelger, a native of Toledo, Ohio. Miss 
 Doelger was pliant, garrulous, with a certain fluidity of 
 thought which ran naturally to words, who had affixed 
 herself to Miss Cass while en route between Algiers and 
 Naples. Upon reaching the latter place Helena had taken 
 the express to Rome and Miss Doelger had re-embarked 
 for Greece. During the following months she had bom- 
 barded the object of her attachment with postcards, small 
 souvenirs and a quantity of notes on tinted paper covered 
 with large angular and ill-formed writing in which she 
 signed herself "Yours fondly, Edith." 
 
 There were times when two of these letters reached her 
 by a single post, to be followed by weeks of silence, after 
 which a fresh fusilade of endearments was recommenced. 
 Having remained for several months the recipient of suc- 
 cessive affection and neglect, Helena one morning received 
 the announcement of Miss Doelger's betrothal to the
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 39 
 
 Marquis de Lanel. She wrote that "Tristram" was al- 
 ready jealous of "dear Nell," since he had heard so much 
 about her from his fiancee. Neither of them would be 
 thoroughly happy, following their marriage, unless Nell paid 
 them a "long, long visit." Helena smiled secretly over 
 these effusions. She knew she would hear little of such 
 invitations once Miss Doelger became the Marquise de 
 Lanel. 
 
 In this, however, she did her friend an injustice and dur- 
 ing the past year she received frequent communications 
 sprawling over scented coroneted paper, in which she was 
 requested to regard 20 bis Avenue Kleber as a "second 
 home," and to look upon their estate in Brittany as her 
 own. "Our latch-string is always out to you," she reiter- 
 ated, and was as ever "fondly Edith." 
 
 An acquaintance that had been maintained almost entirely 
 on paper, in which her correspondent's words had all seemed 
 excessive, made her approach the hotel with some trepida- 
 tion. She paid the coachman and alighted from her taxi- 
 cab and rang the bell at No. 20 bis with a moment's doubt 
 if she would recognise Edith if she passed her in the street. 
 She had never returned the ardour of the other's affection 
 and had been somewhat embarrassed by its violence. 
 
 She was admitted to a spacious, shrouded hall and di- 
 rected up a flight of shallow steps into a salon which seemed 
 a conventional setting for a Louis Quinze comedy. Here 
 she remained in silence, punctuated only by the ticking of 
 a large, round-bellied ormolu clock on the chimney piece. 
 Twice she rose deciding to leave but there was no footman 
 in the hall and she hesitated to ring in order to be shown, 
 out. Possibly Edith was bathing or dressing, although it 
 was the hour when one should be functionally visible to 
 guests. At the end of twenty minutes she was on her feet 
 and resolute, her hand on the bell when she heard draperies 
 on the stairs. 
 
 Then Madame de Lanel, in a teagown of silver lace, with 
 bands of skunk, stood in the doorway, jewels flashing on 
 her fingers and tassels of animated gems quivering in her
 
 40 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ears. She clasped one of Helena's hands in both of hers 
 and kissed her impersonally. Miss Cass's first impression 
 was that she had rarely obtained a kiss which expressed 
 such utter boredom. A hurried survey of the Marquise's 
 toilette assured her it had been assumed for her benefit. 
 
 "What are you doing in Paris?" she asked in a voice 
 in which Toledo, Ohio, seemed infinitely remote, "and at 
 this time of year?" 
 
 "Oh, Paris is very much the same at one season as at 
 another, to anyone who is on the outside." 
 
 "But it shouldn't be. You Americans are so incompre- 
 hensible. If you've come for society you are much too late. 
 This is my home, and yet I don't know a soul in town. Not 
 a soul. And if you've come for clothes you are much too 
 early." 
 
 She laughed indulgently and then remarked : 
 
 "The only costumes in evidence in August are for the 
 ladies of the autre monde and for Americans." 
 
 Then she added more cordially: 
 
 "Tristram will be desole to miss you. I've so often told 
 him what dear friends we are. You see we go to our es- 
 tate in Brittany early to-morrow and remain there until 
 the holidays, so I suppose I shan't have another opportunity 
 of seeing you." 
 
 Miss Cass expressed her regret and the Marquise, 
 having made her absence plain, now interrogated her as to 
 her purpose in coming to Paris. When Helena had ex- 
 plained, she said : 
 
 "Then you're a member of a party?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you can't leave them ?" 
 
 "Hardly." 
 
 "Comtne c'est enttuiant. Of course there's nothing to do 
 in the country, and Tristram and I are very dull, but I 
 should have loved to have you with us. You and I could 
 amuse ourselves just being together, couldn't we?" 
 
 Helena agreed. 
 
 "But you wouldn't ask to be released?"
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 41 
 
 , "I couldn't. I begged to be included. And my being 
 along rather lessens Mrs. Slaterlee's expense, so I wouldn't 
 suggest it." 
 
 "I don't know whether to be annoyed with you or not. I 
 have promised myself a visit from you for so long. Why 
 didn't you make plans to be left here in my charge? I 
 don't believe you trust Tristram and me." 
 
 Helena was silent. 
 
 "I see you haven't any very cogent reasons." 
 
 She hesitated and then said truthfully: 
 
 "I didn't know that you really meant it." 
 
 "Cela c'est trap fort!" 
 
 An hour later, following tea, Miss Cass suffered herself 
 to be kissed by her hostess and, entering a taxicab, was 
 driven back to the Meurice. 
 
 As she crossed the lounge a gentleman rose from an arm- 
 chair and came toward her. She recognised Mr. Buel. 
 
 "Here you are !" he exclaimed. "I've been waiting nearly 
 an hour. They told me you went out alone and I thought 
 I'd take a chance that you'd return alone." 
 
 "But you shouldn't be here. We promised." 
 
 "Don't scold. I have a plan. The nights are so wonder- 
 ful, why can't I take you out to Pre Catalan to-night? I 
 mean all of you. Mrs. Slaterlee can sit between us. What 
 a night to motor under the stars ! You aren't seeing any- 
 thing of Paris as it is, going to galleries by day and to 
 stuffy performances of musty old plays by night. And 
 you can't go about without a man, so why not utilise me? 
 What do you say?" 
 
 "I'd love it. I'll ask Mrs. Slaterlee, only please go, and 
 don't do this again. It doesn't look nice and Madame Sla- 
 terlee's opinion of me is none too high at present." 
 
 But Miss Cass had no more than uttered the words 
 when Mrs. Slaterlee entered the lounge entrenched be- 
 tween her two charges. Mr. Buel approached her and 
 bowed, intending an explanation of his presence, but Mrs. 
 Slaterlee passed him, ignoring his salutation, and entered 
 the lift with her young ladies. Helena was just in time to
 
 42 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 follow her into the car before the door was closed upon 
 her, and they rose. Buel cursed, put on his hat, and strode 
 out to the street. 
 
 Helena was in her most pacifying mood when she entered 
 Mrs. Slaterlee's bedroom, for she realised the evidence was 
 against her. But her cheeks flamed slowly as the door was 
 shut and the two women confronted each other. She felt 
 then she would not be given a chance to explain. 
 
 "When you asked to remain behind so you could visit a 
 friend I believed you. I don't know why I should after your 
 reasons for joining us at all. I'm not going to say I am 
 disappointed in you, for my feeling is so much stronger 
 than that. At least you have a brain and I supposed a sense 
 of honour. But the realisation that you are in trust I 
 thought would keep you from acting differently. I don't 
 suppose I would ever have known that you spent the after- 
 noon with that man if we had not returned earlier than we 
 expected. If I knew of anyone who was going back to New 
 York, I should insist upon your being with them and writing 
 a complete explanation to your father. But as I don't, I 
 suppose the pleasure of my holiday must be destroyed by 
 having to keep you always within sight. I shan't refer to 
 this again, but in the future when you don't care to accom- 
 pany us I shall remain with you. And I shall keep sedu- 
 lously to this plan until you are home and I am no longer 
 responsible for you." 
 
 There was a moment's pause after she finished speaking. 
 The elder woman was about to open the door and dismiss 
 Helena from her room, when she found her voice. 
 
 "Mrs. Slaterlee, I am no longer under your guidance. 
 That was why I was talking to Mr. Buel this afternoon. 
 The Marquise de Lanel has asked me to visit her and her 
 husband in Brittany. They are leaving early to-morrow 
 morning and I have promised to accompany them. I 
 merely returned early in order to pack." 
 
 Twenty minutes later Miss Cass stood in the Louis- 
 Quinze salon at 20 bis Avenue Kleber. As she explained
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 43 
 
 her predicament for a second time, the Marquise de Lanel 
 showed the whites of her eyes. 
 
 "But, my dear, why have you quarrelled? How could 
 you do anything so stupid? You must make your peace 
 with cette dame" 
 
 "That, never. I can't. I told her I was leaving, that I 
 was coming to you. How can I tell her now that that was 
 sheer invention?" 
 
 "Quelle betise. Why on earth did you say such a thing ?" 
 
 "I don't know. I was angry." 
 
 "Well, tell her that." 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "And why not, mon Dieu!" 
 
 "Edith, don't you want me? You asked me this after- 
 noon you didn't know whether you could forgive me for 
 not visiting you. And now I tell you I am free." 
 
 "Of course I want you, cherie. How can you suggest 
 that ? But this is hardly convenable." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't want you to come as the result of a quarrel. 
 And then you will be so bored at the chateau." 
 
 "I shall be content if you and I are together," Miss Cass 
 remarked shrewdly. 
 
 But Madame de Lanel seemed not to recognise her own 
 words. 
 
 "Tristram is far from well and will have to be kept quiet. 
 And we will do practically no entertaining. And then we 
 are rather short of servants, and I'm not taking the car." 
 
 "I shan't mind. I shall enjoy the rest." 
 
 "Very well. You must spend the night with your party. 
 We are to leave on the eight o'clock from the Gare Mont- 
 parnasse to-morrow morning. And don't miss the train. 
 Tristram is fussy about trains, so we won't wait for you 
 if you are not there." 
 
 It was far from the invitation Miss Cass had expected, 
 but as there seemed nothing else for her to do she ac- 
 quiesced : 
 
 "I'll be there."
 
 V 
 
 OUTSIDE the windows the flying landscape unfolded. The 
 river valley was peaceful, verdant, its flow suave, voice- 
 less between its banks thick with reeds and water grasses 
 that waded knee deep into the stream. Here and 
 there were long stretches of poplars, formal, clipped, looking 
 more like a Sisley or a Didier than they did like rural 
 France itself. And glittering in the August sun followed 
 white, powdery roads over which an occasional motor sped 
 racing the train. 
 
 It passed hamlets, clustering towns and the unvarying 
 agricultural country, the fields cultivated, every clod preg- 
 nant, yielding its penultimate of life. Fields of turnips, 
 lettuces and blue cabbages overlay the slopes like some in- 
 tricate pattern of a mammoth quilt. Labourers at work 
 raised bent bodies to watch the train out of sight. 
 
 Within their carriage Miss Cass sat opposite her host and 
 hpstess. She found the Marquise de Lanel a slight man 
 whose ill health was still apparent and she imagined his long 
 residence in the country was to overcome continued aenemia 
 and threatened tuberculosis. Slight of build, his face faintly 
 bronzed by much out-of-door life, his high colour did not 
 deceive her as to his frail constitution. She noticed his 
 hands, delicately made, two fingers nicotine-stained from 
 incessant smoking. 
 
 Directly they had ensconced themselves to prepare for 
 several hours of travel Madame de Lanel became insistent 
 upon finding Tristram's cap, unpacking his rug and per- 
 forming various offices for his comfort. He submitted 
 through habit to these attentions, but Miss Cass believed it 
 was with the fervent wish that he might be cared for with 
 less aggression. She realised that although Edith loved 
 her husband and still remained in some awe of him, she 
 
 44
 
 45 
 
 was not adverse to having her devotion commented upon. 
 
 As she faced the brilliant sunlight without, by some 
 effect of light she seemed less vivid than in her shaded 
 salon. A blonde of extreme type, she was fair almost to 
 the point of being colourless. And Helena was interested 
 to notice that when her friend's cheek rested against her 
 dark travelling pillow that it left a trace of powder like the 
 pollen of a moth. It was a moth that Edith resembled, 
 with her pale lashes and faint brows. 
 
 "Do you know," she remarked, "my French 'in-laws' 
 had never met an American until they met poor little me. 
 They had seen our countrywomen at a distance Paris is 
 overrun with them at certain seasons but they had never 
 met one. Us ont les id]ees les plus extraordinmres de nos 1 
 moeurs. They call me 'Bebe* They said 'Edith' ne me 
 va pas." 
 
 She spoke a correct, painstaking French, an accomplish- 
 ment which she believed was not native to the average 
 tripper. 
 
 "Cela vous ennuie si je parle la langue de mon adoption. 
 Je me fiche de I' Anglais, et j'ai un tas de chose a vous 
 dire." 
 Helena smiled. 
 
 "Tout au contraire. Cela me plait encore mieux. Pend- 
 ant que je~ suis id, je veux etre aussi Parisienne que pos- 
 sible." 
 
 Madame de Lanel made no comment, but the Marquis 
 laid aside his Mercure de France surprised by the quality of 
 her pronunciation. He was not the first to be amazed 
 by the cadence of her speech, liquid, clear, articulate. 
 
 "Ton amie parle bien. Hein?" 
 
 "Du vrai?" Helena persisted. 
 
 "Not badly, but she has the inevitable accent," Madame 
 de Lanel was at some pains to say. 
 
 "Mille remerciments, Bebe." 
 
 "Don't call me Bcbe," she continued with asperity. 
 "That petit name is only for my French relatives. After 
 all we are Americans and it is absurd for us to attempt to
 
 46 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 hinder our speech by talking a language which is foreign 
 to us both." 
 
 Nor did her hostess relapse into French again while in 
 the presence of her guest. 
 
 It was past mid-day when they alighted from the train. 
 A series of mishaps, microscopic in themselves, but per- 
 sistent, had served to endanger Madame de Lanel's good na- 
 ture, so that the drive to the chateau was achieved in almost 
 total silence. True to her word the Marquise had not taken 
 her car from Paris and they drove behind a pair of light 
 luggage horses, a laborious progress under a blinding sun. 
 Miss Cass, whose own fondness was for flying trains and 
 swifter motor cars, curbed a natural impatience. Her 
 friend had offered her unexpected asylum and she was in 
 a mood to appreciate her slightest whim. 
 
 From time to time Monsieur de Lanel pointed out acres 
 they passed which had belonged to his grandfather, and of 
 the remaining property that was his own. She surmised 
 that his was the simple, unaffected pride in his farm which 
 the Marquise preferred to refer to as the "chateau," or 
 the "estate." He had developed an interest in raising 
 short-horns, and expressed a desire to visit the great cattle 
 ranches of America, but the subject was not sympathetic 
 to his wife. She was not actively annoyed, since his fancy 
 was profitless, but she could not have endured the thought 
 of his dealing in cattle becoming a source of income. 
 
 The house, as they approached it, was low lying, a ram- 
 bling structure, unostentatious, surrounded by plane trees 
 and vivid turf, and at a distance were stables and a quan- 
 tity of out-houses all scrupulously white. 
 
 Bidden to enter, Miss Cass found herself in a long, low 
 hall, with raftered ceilings, such as she had imagined were 
 to be found in old French inns in Cathedral towns. A few 
 steps admitted to a vast lounge and a music room beyond, 
 furnished in old French pieces, and the evidence of Mon- 
 sieur de Lanel's untiring travels covered walls and floor. 
 
 "What an adorable fireplace," she remarked as she stood 
 well under its hood.
 
 Edith interrupted her with a light touch on her arm. 
 
 "Marie will show you to your room now," she said, 
 "and I will have your tea sent up so you can rest until 
 dinner. I know you're tired." 
 
 Miss Cass followed the parlour maid upstairs, feeling 
 very untired and rebellious. As she continued down the 
 upper hall she passed several open doors. She caught a 
 glimpse of large sitting-rooms and dressing-rooms that 
 connected Madame de Lanel's suite with that of her hus- 
 band's. 
 
 At the end of the passage the parlour maid opened a door 
 to a tiny bedroom which contained one window and was 
 furnished with a bed, a chest of drawers, a writing table 
 and two chairs. Miss Cass looked about her with a feeling 
 of rising indignation. It was not such a room as she 
 could have accepted in any hotel. She wondered why such 
 crampt and uncomfortable quarters had been reserved es- 
 pecially for her. Surely there must be other guest rooms. 
 The maid had unpacked the contents of her bag and laid 
 them away in drawers. After murmuring that tea would be 
 sent up presently, she withdrew. 
 
 Miss Cass paced the length of the room twice and then 
 sat down. In passing the mirror she had caught a glimpse 
 of her expression and it had not been pleasant. After all 
 she was spoiled and it was foolish to allow trifles to upset 
 one's temper. "II faut du calme," as her hostess would 
 say, and at the thought of the Marquise de Lanel she began 
 to laugh. 
 
 She removed her hat, her blouse and skirt and put on a 
 muslin dressing sacque and lay down in her petticoat on 
 the bed. She vaguely wondered if this wasn't really her 
 maid's room, who perhaps had not been in the habit of sleep- 
 ing in the servants' hall so as to be near her mistress. Her 
 trunk had not arrived and she had brought nothing with her 
 to read. She thought once to rise and dress and go below 
 stairs in a search of something to amuse her, and then she 
 felt curiously sure that any such action would annoy Ma-
 
 48 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 dame de Lanel. She had been instructed to rest, and it was 
 advisable that she obey. 
 
 Her glance taking in the limitations of her room noticed 
 two candlesticks on the chest of drawers. The house was 
 without electricity ; that was her only means of lighting the 
 room. She had planned to excuse herself shortly after 
 dinner and read, but even such diversion was not possible. 
 
 When tea arrived she drank it almost at a draught and 
 then lay down once more. She felt particularly annoyed 
 when the dressing bell rang that she had to put on the 
 same dress she had travelled in. She remembered a tea 
 gown in her trunk in which she would have appeared to 
 greater advantage. 
 
 The Marquise de Lanel told her early next morning that 
 she was driving to the village and requested her friend 
 to accompany her. 
 
 "A few of the country families are giving a dance 
 next month and I am on one of the committees, 
 so I thought I would find out just what has been planned 
 during my absence. The Countess des Roches and a 
 number of pleasant people are active workers. Then I 
 must make sure of a few orders for Tristram's lunch. He's 
 entertaining some old Lycee friends to-morrow. It's too 
 bad that it has to be while you're here. If you were only 
 a married woman I'd ask you to come downstairs, but 
 since you're not I'll have a tray sent up to your room." 
 
 They had entered a governess'-cart, the Marquise had 
 taken the reins and they were now jolting over the country 
 road. 
 
 "I'm not taking any groom with me this morning," she 
 said explaining, "because every man is needed during Au- 
 gust and September. We're short of servants as it is, and, 
 naturally, I don't stand on any ceremonie with you. You 
 can hold the reins while I look after my commissions." 
 
 The morning was clear, unveiled, the arch of empyrean 
 as dazzling in colour as a liquid turquoise. The smell of 
 wild things in the air; the essence of the country made it- 
 self felt in a thousand scents, ripening berries, bleaching
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 49 
 
 grass and the aroma of fresh growth bruised by grazing 
 cattle. Several times their approach startled a covey of 
 partridges from the roadside or in the dust by their wheels 
 they saw ground-coloured toads hopping among the weeds. 
 
 Reaching the village, her hostess handed the reins to 
 Miss Cass and alighted to make the rounds of the market 
 and the clustering shops which enclosed the public square. 
 For some time Helena remained amused by the animated 
 life as shrewd housewives bargained, their panniers over- 
 flowing with vegetables, and peasants clattered by on 
 wooden sabots filled with straw. The Marquise had been 
 absent an hour before Helena observed her returning to 
 the cart accompanied by a Frenchman, while a peasant fol- 
 lowed a few steps behind them carrying their purchases. 
 
 As they reached the governess'-cart the Marquise turned 
 to dismiss her acquaintance, but the Frenchman having 
 sighted Helena, made some remark about la belle Ameri- 
 caine, and Edith introduced Comte Andre. 
 
 He was encliante, and asked if Mademoiselle was visit- 
 ing la Marquise. Hearing that she was, he expressed an 
 intention of coming to see them, but Edith had taken the 
 reins and now seemed restive to be off. 
 
 "Will Mademoiselle be here for the charity ball next 
 month ?" 
 
 Helena was about to agree when Madame de Lanel spoke 
 up promptly. 
 
 "I hope so," she said. "That is if Miss Cass can urge her 
 mother to let her return to me. Au revoir." 
 
 The single sentence seemed to vibrate in the air during 
 the drive back. The charity ball was scheduled to take place 
 in three weeks. That meant she was intended to terminate 
 her visit before then. . . . 
 
 What had she done or said to rouse this latent antago- 
 nism, for there was no doubting their strained relations 
 which were momentarily growing nearer and nearer to open 
 rupture. Under present conditions it was impossible for her 
 to remain, nor could she travel about Europe alone. It meant 
 writing to Mrs. Slaterlee and begging to return to the shel-
 
 50 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ter of her chaperonage while she ate very humble pie in- 
 deed. It would not be pleasant ; it would mean defeat ; yet 
 anything was preferable to the scant courtesy which existed 
 between her and her hostess. She made up her mind to 
 compose a letter to Mrs. Slaterlee directly they reached 
 the house, and since the point was decided she could en- 
 dure Madame de Lanel's snubs with greater fortitude now 
 she was so soon to renounce her hospitality. 
 
 That afternoon the letter written and despatched, Helena 
 remained seated on the verandah amusing herself with a 
 game of solitaire when there came a great clatter of hoofs 
 up the drive and she saw that two horsemen were canter- 
 ing toward the house. As they swung to the ground she 
 recognised one to be Comte Andre of the morning en- 
 counter and the second his friend. Helena remained on 
 the verandah chatting with them while she sent a maid 
 to summon Madame de Lanel, but as that lady did not ap- 
 pear at the end of a half hour Helena rang once more. 
 The parlour maid explained that Madame had been de- 
 tained but would be down presently. 
 
 Comte Andre, who seemed content with present com- 
 pany, suggested a rubber at bridge, but when this had been 
 played and Madame de Lanel had sent no further message 
 to explain her absence, Miss Cass ran upstairs and knocked 
 on her door. There was no answer and opening the door 
 to Edith's sitting-room, she found it unoccupied. She was 
 gripped by a feeling of rage. She had purposely been left 
 alone to talk to two men whom she did not know while her 
 hostess had gone to bed or perhaps left by the rear of the 
 house for an afternoon's gunning with her husband. 
 
 Helena returned promptly to the verandah profuse in 
 her apologies for Madame de Lanel, who she said was 
 suffering from a severe headache ; was in fact feeling very, 
 very ill, so she must be excused. In reply to the gentle- 
 men's commiseration she assured them that a doctor was 
 not necessary. That the care of Miss Cass and Madame's 
 maid was all that was required. After she had seen Comte
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 51 
 
 Andre and his friend mount their horses and ride discon- 
 solately away she climbed the stairs to her room. 
 
 She realised at once that Madame de Lanel's action was 
 not the result of a haphazard irritation or annoyance. 
 This was the definite outgrowth of a purpose, which was 
 to rid herself of her unwelcome guest in as brief a time 
 as possible. Each effrontery to ordinary hospitality had 
 been planned and was part of an expected crisis toward 
 which they were moving. The woman had decided upon a 
 quarrel and was now lying in wait for the means of precipi- 
 tance. 
 
 That night at dinner Miss Cass made no reference to the 
 gentlemen's visit or Edith's non-appearance. She was 
 trying to determine what factor had brought about the 
 breach. Surely, she reaffirmed, the Marquise did not do 
 her the honour to be jealous, since Monsieur de Lanel's at- 
 tentions had at no time been more than those of host and 
 had increased only as his wife had become more negligent 
 of her guest's comfort. Twice he voiced some monitory 
 objection to the Marquise for making plans for the future 
 in which Miss Cass had no part, to which she replied: 
 
 "But Helena does not want to be treated like a guest, do 
 you, Helena?" 
 
 "Indeed not." 
 
 "But I can't make that clear to Tristram. He seems to 
 think that while you're here I should be with you every min- 
 ute. I tell him you enjoy yourself more being alone, and 
 anyway I warned you we were fearfully dull, didn't I?" 
 
 "I believe you did." 
 
 "Men don't understand that women don't want to be 
 perpetually together. The real trouble is men don't under- 
 stand women at all." 
 
 This utterance passed in silence. Then Miss Cass fixed 
 Edith with her eyes as she watched her across the table. 
 
 "Isn't it our salvation," she said smilingly, "that men 
 don't understand us? Did you ever think what a horrible 
 place the world would be if men saw through women's 
 motives as we women see through each other's? There is
 
 52 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 no greater protection for the average woman from being 
 found out than to be misunderstood." 
 
 She realised that night in her room that her seemingly 
 affable passage at arms at dinner had not been the wisest 
 procedure. The Marquise was looking for an instrument 
 that she could place her hands upon as a means of opening 
 hostilities. Was it not therefore ill-advised for her to 
 seem to heave the first brick ? She must choose each word 
 with care until she heard from Mrs. Slaterlee, and since 
 that would take two days she would keep to the safety 
 of her room and silence so as to wait until supplied with 
 a place to lay her head before she was evicted from her 
 present shelter. 
 
 The next day was the morning of the Marquis de Lanel's 
 luncheon and his wife remained invisible until noon-day. 
 Miss Cass's offer to supply the table with flowers was re- 
 jected, and she remained in her room as the motors began 
 to arrive at one o'clock and the explosion of many men's 
 voices came up to her door. By two o'clock the voices had 
 become a confused drone, heard only indistinctly, and she 
 judged the twenty men were seated at table. It was an 
 hour later that there came a tap on her door and a maid 
 entered bearing a tray on which was her luncheon. As she 
 took one glance at the soup, cutlet and boiled potato she 
 realised she had been sent a part of the servants' meal, not 
 that which the guests were enjoying. She experienced a 
 moment of unreasoning anger. She refused to touch the 
 food. She would allow the tray to return uninvesti- 
 gated. . . . 
 
 By four o'clock, overcome with hunger, she ate the cold 
 food ravenously and wished that even the servants' meal 
 had been less scanty. She had left no morsel of bread or 
 cheese, or potato or cutlet, and drained the plate of soup. 
 
 The luncheon, it appeared, was a great success, and when 
 Miss Cass descended the stairs that evening after the 
 dressing-gong had sounded she found her host and hostess 
 discussing certain guests in a room wreathed in smoke and 
 filled with wilting decorations. Madame de Lanel was
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 53 
 
 still flushed and pleased as the result of being the only lady 
 in the company of twenty gentlemen. 
 
 Next morning Helena found a letter on her breakfast 
 tray, her own to Mrs. Slaterlee at the Hotel Meurice re- 
 turned with the statement that the addressee was no longer 
 a guest and had left no forwarding address. Helena had 
 not thought of that exigency in making her plans, and she 
 did not know what bankers Mrs. Slaterlee used. There was 
 no way she could communicate with her without cabling to 
 the President of Vassar for her address. For a moment 
 she was sobered. She wondered if Madame de Lanel had 
 looked at the mail bag that morning and seen her letter, or 
 had they been sorted by a servant ? She finished her break- 
 fast, bathed and rose, ready for a walk. She needed time 
 to think but on her return at noonday she would have some 
 plan of procedure. 
 
 Travelling alone in Europe, much as it would be pro- 
 hibited by her family and expose her to conjecture of her 
 friends, was at least a lesser evil than remaining where she 
 was. 
 
 Miss Cass passed no one as she crossed the lower hall, 
 opened the house door and stepped out on the dew-studded 
 turf. The morning was still cool but in the unbroken blue 
 above she recognised a threat of heat. She started down 
 the drive, lifting her skirt above the tassels of sheep's pars- 
 ley and milkweeds that grew along the roadway. There 
 was a calmness in the outlying meadows and broken woods 
 which made her present annoyances seem impalpable, re- 
 mote, as though past slights had been largely a matter of 
 inverted ego. 
 
 She had come to a turn in the road when she saw a man 
 approaching her from the thicket a few rods ahead. She 
 stopped short surprised, realising there was something fa- 
 miliar in the broad shoulders and heavy build. An instant 
 later she recognised the intruder was Mr. Jordan Buel.
 
 VI 
 
 "NOT so tight . . . you're choking me. . . . Jordan, stop 
 kissing for a moment and tell me how you got here? How 
 did you know where I was?" 
 
 Mr. Buel did not release her, but after holding her in 
 his arms for a few minutes his passion seemed to make way 
 for more coherence. He attempted to answer her ques- 
 tions while his eyes played over her and he watched her 
 face from different angles as an expert appraiser views 
 some beautiful object of intricate workmanship. 
 
 "I followed you," he admitted laconically. 
 
 "You mean you were on the same train with us from 
 Paris?" 
 
 "Yes. But I lost you at Rennes." 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 "I asked the guard who your friends were but he didn't 
 know them. Who is this Frenchman?" 
 
 "Never mind now. Where are you stopping?" 
 
 "A place called St. Lo. I've sent for my chauffeur and 
 I'm there with the car. He's down the road further. I 
 came up the drive quietly to sort of investigate on my 
 own." 
 
 "You great big boy !" 
 
 "You gave the old lady the sack? I knew you had a 
 quarrel. I called at the Meurice next morning and they told 
 me you had left for Gare Montparnasse. That's how I fol- 
 lowed." 
 
 He crushed her hands in his. 
 
 "Jordan, you hurt." 
 
 "Where's my ring?" 
 
 "Here, in my blouse. It's on a ribbon." 
 
 "Why aren't you wearing it?" 
 
 "Because it looks rather out of place here." 
 
 54
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 55 
 
 "Oh, it does." 
 
 "Well, I haven't told Edith I'm engaged. So if I were 
 suddenly to appear with it on it would attract attention. 
 As it is I am considered a sort of adventuress. At least 
 I wear it when I am alone in my room." 
 
 "Wear it now." 
 
 Miss Cass obeyed and then remarked : 
 
 "I know you're thinking about Monsieur de Lanel. I 
 haven't refrained from wearing it because I didn't want 
 him to know I'm engaged, so don't do anything so stupid as 
 to be jealous. I have difficulties enough as it is." 
 
 "Difficulties ?" 
 
 It occurred to her that Madame de Lanel might appear 
 any moment in the lane and finding her in the arms of a 
 stranger would be sufficient offence for permanent expul- 
 sion. With this in mind she led the way into the woods. 
 Under foot was an accumulation of leaves that had rotted, 
 covering the ground with a spongy carpet like heavy 
 pile. Coarse bracken grew thick about them and wild ivy 
 festooned itself from limb to limb, and on the tree stems 
 were attached occasional round moles of vivid leek-green 
 moss. When they were out of earshot of the drive Helena 
 halted and after a glance at the damp ivy and her perishable 
 draperies, as though deliberately deciding to ruin her dress, 
 she seated herself on the ground. 
 
 "I've told you my position," she said at length. "What on 
 earth am I to do?" 
 
 Mr. Buel pondered that. 
 
 "I've subscribed to the Paris edition of the New York 
 Herald," she went on, "and I'm following the arrivals of 
 every hotel to see if someone doesn't come along that I 
 know to whom I may attach myself. If I were only a no- 
 body or past the marrying age it wouldn't matter, but I am 
 too prominent to be wandering about Europe alone. Haven't 
 you a suggestion?" 
 
 "Of course. Marry me." 
 
 "Here? In France? Where it can't be done inside of 
 two months, and one has to have one's birth certificate
 
 56 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 vouched for by the American Consul, and one's parents' 
 marriage certificate and what not. ..." 
 
 "Then in London by a private register." 
 
 "No, Jordan. When I do marry you it's going to be with 
 my family about me and all the evidences of respectability, 
 not after the manner of a housemaid. I'm not going to 
 spend the rest of my life explaining why I did it. I've 
 seen the results of that before. You and I are not going 
 to begin life under a cloud." 
 
 Then following a moment's silence she sprang up. 
 
 "Jordan, I've an idea. I'll return to the house now and 
 you drive up in a few minutes in your car and well meet 
 before Edith's eyes as though for the first time to-day. I 
 shall introduce you as a family friend from America and 
 you will begin an immediate flirtation wit! 1 her. She will 
 be so flattered she will endure me for a week or so simply 
 for the satisfaction of making me look ridiculous in youi 
 eyes. In the meantime something will turn up for me as 
 a way out. Promise to ignore me. The entire success de- 
 pends upon that." 
 
 "Ill do my best," he agreed. 
 
 Helena turned abruptly, left him and made her way back 
 to the drive. Reaching the house, she entered the music 
 room where Madame de Lanel was engaged above her 
 tapestry frame in an attempt to perfect herself in the arts 
 of a French gentlewoman. A moment later a motor car 
 was heard outside. With elaborate unconcern Miss Cass 
 glanced through the windows and felt a quickening of satis- 
 faction as she noted the perfection of the machine at the 
 door. Then she exclaimed : 
 
 "Why, it's Mr. Buel!" 
 
 He entered presently and she extended her hand, re- 
 marking : 
 
 "I am glad to see you. When did you come ? I want you 
 and Madame de Lanel to meet." 
 
 She watched the introduction with trepidation, aware of 
 a certain inelastic quality of mind which characterised Mr. 
 Buel and which made it unlikely that he could put through
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 57 
 
 their intriguing with any degree of success. His eyes 
 turned toward Madame de Lanel a second time, and he 
 exclaimed impulsively: 
 
 "This is a pleasure." 
 
 Miss Cass saw a tinge of colour flush the woman's cheek 
 for a moment, as he continued to press her hand and 
 Helena realised that she had misjudged the potency of the 
 mere masculine unit. Mr. Buel's clumsy efforts at flattery 
 had been too pleasing for Edith to doubt their genuineness. 
 After all, she mused, as she watched the two engaged in a 
 somewhat furtive conversation across the room, nothing 
 could be more deleterious to character than living in an at- 
 mosphere where the truth was always under suspicion. 
 
 After a few minutes she recognised a glint of anger in 
 Edith's eyes and wondered what Mr. Buel had done to 
 occasion it. She rose and selected a chair nearer to them, 
 thinking to include herself in their remarks, fearing Jor- 
 dan's zealousness might overdo the situation. She could 
 see Madame de Lanel's manner was openly hostile and 
 seemed to predicate immediate disaster. Her eyes were fast- 
 ened upon Helena where she sat before her, her hands rest- 
 ing on the arms of her chair. Instantly she realised what 
 had happened. In her hurried return to the house she 
 had forgotten to remove the preposterous ring. The nav- 
 ette-shaped diamond glittering on the third finger of her 
 left hand had caught Madame de Lanel's attention, and her 
 shrewd mind had deducted something very like the truth. 
 Mr. Buel was the girl's fiance and was attempting to claim 
 the attention of her hostess in order to become a welcome 
 guest. The divination of a plot between them enraged 
 her, so that when she asked him if he would remain to 
 luncheon it was with such truculence of manner that he 
 hastily declined. 
 
 "I didn't know it was so late," he remarked as he rose, 
 following her example. "It took longer to motor here 
 from St. Lo than I realised. Can't we have a picnic some 
 day this week? You and Miss Cass, Monsieur de Lanel 
 and myself. How would to-morrow be? One can make
 
 $8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 the trip from here to Mount St. Michael in my car, my 
 chauffeur says, in something over two hours, and I be- 
 lieve there's rather a famous inn there for lunch." 
 
 "Unfortunately my husband is quite an invalid this 
 summer, so that I shall have to decline for Tristram. He 
 would find the trip too tiring." 
 
 "But you and Miss Cass will accept?" 
 
 "I'm needed here, but don't let me in any way hinder 
 your plans." 
 
 "Naturally I wouldn't think of going without you, Edith," 
 Helena replied. 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "Because little as you may suspect it, I have some regard 
 for the proprieties myself. And in such things one is 
 rather more particular in France than anywhere else." 
 
 "But you are not French, so what possible difference does 
 that make? You are an American and your countrywomen 
 are privileged characters here. They can do the most amaz- 
 ing things without causing the slightest comment. And then 
 again it isn't as though you knew anyone or had a position 
 to maintain in France. You're a stranger, a tourist, so why 
 shouldn't you do as you please? You are foolish to refuse 
 for such reasons if you wish to go. I'm sorry you won't 
 stay to luncheon, Mr. Buel. You'll excuse me." 
 
 As she spoke the last words she left the room to cross 
 the hall and tap on the door of Monsieur de Lanel's study. 
 
 "I've simply got her mad. My work must have been 
 pretty lumpy." 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 "Will you come to-morrow?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 "I can't see any reason. At what time?" 
 
 "Be here at eleven o'clock. And now go." 
 
 The arrangements were made and agreed to as though 
 the picnic were a conspiracy. And the next morning, 
 prompt to the fraction of a minute, the cut-out snorting like 
 some wild beast to escape capture, the long, low swung car
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 59 
 
 bounded up the drive and remained purring while Helena 
 came out of the house and was handed in. 
 
 She thought, as she took her seat beside him, that she 
 had never seen him look so happy, or his great frame 
 of such immense proportions as in his flannels. 
 
 "How are things this morning?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know. I haven't seen her. I searched the house 
 over before leaving to say good-bye but Edith is always 
 inaccessible. Marie said she was not in her room, so I 
 suppose she was hiding." 
 
 "Let's forget her for one day." 
 
 And then the car took the decline as though volplaning 
 as it slid down the long stretch, not slackening in its speed 
 until they approached the turn where it joined the country 
 road. 
 
 "I had forgotten there was such a sensation left in the 
 world. I will never be satisfied to do anything slowly 
 again. Your car's a darling." 
 
 "Think of the good times you've missed!" 
 
 She put both hands to her head to fasten more securely 
 the little burnt straw hat she was wearing, and to restrain 
 her ballooning veil behind her. She was smiling now, her 
 eyes a-dance, her lips parted showing a row of white teeth, 
 small, even and sharp as cuttle fish. Mr. Buel stooped sud- 
 denly, caught her tight in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 "Please." 
 
 "Well, I've wanted to do that ever since I've got into the 
 car." 
 
 "Suppose the chauffeur were to turn around?" 
 
 "He has instructions to keep his eyes on the road ahead. 
 That's why I'm not driving." 
 
 " I am glad I came." 
 
 Mr. Buel laughed ; he was holding her hand. 
 
 "Familiarity breeds contentment," he agreed. 
 
 Fields spread out beside them and then seemed to dis- 
 solve in their flight. To Helena it appeared that the car 
 was not moving, so even was their progress that it seemed 
 more reasonable that the long white ribbon of the road was
 
 60 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 retreating under their wheels. Although the heat was al- 
 ready intense their speed created its own temperature. They 
 passed motorists headed for Rennes like shadows, and at 
 such times they sat rigidly apart from each other. 
 
 They slackened their pace while passing through the 
 town of Contances, with its blistering white walls and only 
 occasional shade and were quickening along an open stretch 
 of road when the forward wheel of the car struck a broken 
 bottle, unnoticed in the dust. A report like a pistol shot 
 followed, the car lurched drunkenly from side to side and 
 was brought to a standstill by the edge of the road. Helena 
 and Mr. Buel remained in their seats while a new tire was 
 substituted, fanning themselves against choking dust and 
 unremitting heat. No one passed them and in the deserted 
 country there was no sound but the ominous rattle of lo- 
 custs. 
 
 At length once more in progress they continued with 
 greater caution through the villages of Folligny and Hage- 
 Pasner. But having been delayed it was after one o'clock 
 when they drew into Avranches and Mr. Buel ordered the 
 chauffeur to stop on the terrace where they had their first 
 uninterrupted view of Mount St. Michael. The island lay 
 before them separated from the mainland by smooth flats 
 laid bare by receding tides, St. Michael itself connected by 
 a causeway. It looked oddly as though an entire mediaeval 
 city had been drowned in the channel and only this emi- 
 nence had risen above the waters, its perpendicular sides 
 crowded with huddled tile roofs and spires. It was at once 
 as imaginative and unreal as a Dore. 
 
 As the car remained unprotected from the sun the heat 
 blew over them like a breath from a furnace. At the rear 
 of the hotel were unoccupied cars and within the d'Angle- 
 terre came the clatter of dishes of innumerable trippers 
 being served. 
 
 "You'd rather lunch here," he said, "than wait till we 
 reach the island. Our being late is going to make our time 
 very limited." 
 
 "Then let's go on. I am starved," Helena admitted, "but
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 61 
 
 it looks so picturesque I can hold out ten minutes longer, 
 and it can't be over half a mile away." 
 
 They descended the height which skirted the Bay and 
 were about to run onto the causeway when a returning car 
 signalled wildly. Mr. Buel saw that the occupants were 
 countrymen of his and instructed the chauffeur to see what 
 they wanted. He returned in a moment with the informa- 
 tion that the causeway had broken down and no car could 
 get across. 
 
 "Well, I'm not going to walk. That's out of the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 A French labourer was passing them, and as Mr. Buel ad- 
 mired Miss Cass's linguistic facilities he suggested she ask 
 him to confirm the report. After the man's volubility and 
 gesticulations had subsided she turned to her fiance. 
 
 "He says it was wrecked in the storm here last week. 
 The second time it has given away in over thirty years, but 
 they think in two or three days to have it restored. In the 
 meantime no car can get over." 
 
 The chauffeur having heard the reply now started the 
 motor running slowly on its course. 
 
 "Where are you going, Williams ?" 
 
 "I can make it, sir, if you are willing I should try." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "Across the sand." 
 
 "That's quicksand. You can't go that way. It's dan- 
 gerous. I've read about it." 
 
 "You see there are fishermen. If they can get there on 
 two feet, I can get there in this car. And there's a 
 woman washing in a stream. I can do what any woman 
 can." 
 
 They looked for a moment fascinated by the great ex- 
 panse of shining sand, upon which the tides had left 
 tangled skeins of seaweed and grass, bits of shell and dead 
 crabs. 
 
 "How can you get down there ?" 
 
 "I see a place further on." 
 
 "It's up to you, Helena. Are you afraid?"
 
 62 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Afraid. Of course not. I'm only thinking of the ma- 
 chine." 
 
 "Hang the machine. All right, Williams. Drive carefully." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Then before they realised what he intended doing, the 
 car had turned abruptly, backed and facing Mount St. 
 Michael was driven at full speed off the embankment. 
 They had a moment of terror in which Buel dragged her 
 into his arms and she covered her eyes as the car flew 
 through space and then landing on the sand began a des- 
 perate race across the flats. 
 
 The moist sand shone like a mirror, but above the purr 
 of the car they heard the sucking of it on the tires like 
 hungry lips, in the treacherous seeping and bubbling be- 
 neath them. Fishermen watched their crazy flight. La- 
 bourers at work on the causeway whistled and shouted to 
 them. But the car sped on and the chauffeur never lifted 
 his head to answer the clamour. He bent over the wheel, his 
 eyes watching through the glass every inch of the track 
 before them. He noticed every depression in the sand, 
 every hillock, as he guided them across and drew them up 
 breathless, thrilled, at the foot of the wall which surrounds 
 the island rock. 
 
 "What a ride," Helena exclaimed. 
 
 As she looked back she saw that the wheels had sunken 
 deeper than they realised and they had taken a greater 
 chance than they knew. A number of idlers had come 
 running to the edge of the wall to watch the adventurers. 
 
 One of them exclaimed that this was the first car to 
 cross the sand. And upon Helena's translating the remark 
 Mr. Buel informed the inscrutable chauffeur, now busily 
 examining his radiator. 
 
 "That's what I thought, sir," he answered succinctly. 
 
 "Be here, ready and waiting for us, Williams, in an 
 hour and a half. Now go up to the Hotel Poulard and 
 get a good lunch." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Helena and Mr. Buel, surrounded by the curious and ad-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 63 
 
 miring, made the ascent up the steep, tortuous street to 
 the flagged entrance of the inn. Here Miss Cass absented 
 herself to remove all travel stains, while Mr. Buel ordered 
 luncheon served under a pergola hidden in creepers which 
 overhung the Bay. 
 
 The absence of tourists who had perforce remained at 
 Avranches, added curiosity to their advent and the few 
 guests received the strangers with wonder and speculation. 
 Helena's laughter and high spirits seemed to resonate and 
 their relationship was soon decided. They ate heartily the 
 monies marine es, roast chicken, salad and omelette souffle 
 served out of doors with the sound of water in their ears. 
 Before them was the silhouette of the mainland, the town 
 blurred by heat haze under a sky of scurrying masses of 
 cumulous cloud. 
 
 "Come! We mustn't waste another minute here if you 
 want to look about the island before we leave," Mr. Buel 
 said at last. 
 
 And so reluctantly they made their way up the steps to 
 the buttressed abbey which crowns the rock. They had 
 hoped to elude the attention of a too persistent guide but 
 he was waiting for them and pulled open the heavy door as 
 they approached. They remained unmindful to the history 
 of its destruction and restoration and the usual anecdotes. 
 But when he lighted a candle to show them the dungeons 
 beneath the monastery, Mr. Buel betrayed his first real 
 interest. 
 
 "I want to see those," he said with genuine enthusiasm. 
 
 They were led into a dark corridor; down a flight of 
 steep stairs. Allowing the guide to precede them, he 
 grasped her in his arms with such violence he all but lifted 
 her off her feet. 
 
 "Jordan!" 
 
 "What's the matter? Have I hurt you?" 
 
 "No. Not hurt exactly, but . . ." 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "You shouldn't do that." 
 
 "Why not?"
 
 64 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 He was kissing her now, but she managed to break away 
 from him as the guide returned. 
 
 "You can go on, Alles if we want to know anything 
 we'll call you back. Comprenez?" 
 
 "Parfaitement, monsieur. 
 
 And the guide continued ahead with the candle, leaving 
 them in almost total darkness. 
 
 "It was for a moment like this that I prepared the entire 
 trip," Mr. Buel explained. 
 
 "But it wouldn't have been possible with Edith along." 
 
 "I should have got rid of her in some way. Thank God, 
 she didn't come. Nell, are you always going to love me ?" 
 
 "How do I know?" 
 
 "You're not a bit reassuring." 
 
 "I really want to see the rest of these dungeons." 
 
 And later, as they passed a deep subterranean entrance 
 to a lower tier they stood looking into the nether darkness 
 breathing the damp, earthy smell. The guide had returned 
 to them, his candle half consumed. They had retraced their 
 steps and were about to mount the rough hewn stairs which 
 led back to the body of the abbey, when from overhead 
 there came a deafening crash. 
 
 They stopped in their ascent. The explosion was so 
 loud it seemed as though the monastery itself was bursting 
 above their heads. 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 "He says it's thunder," Helena answered, as the guide 
 continued to mount. 
 
 "You mean it's a storm?" 
 
 "Oui, monsieur." 
 
 As he extinguished the candle and pulled open the door 
 they saw the realisation of his words. The sinuous alley 
 was black and rain was falling like a downpour of steel 
 needles. The little footway ran with water. 
 
 Mr. Buel grasped Helena's arm with a grip that hurt. 
 
 "It means run," he cried. 
 
 Before she knew it he was propelling her down the 
 steep steps. She was wearing high-heeled, unserviceable
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 65 
 
 snoes in which she slipped and stumbled in her mad descent, 
 but he did not release his hold or slacken his pace. In the 
 haste and semi-darkness she could not see where her next 
 step would fall. 
 
 Suddenly a skeleton ribbed with lightning appeared 
 against the clouds, shook its fist defiantly, passed a white 
 shadow over all the darkness, and vanished leaving a 
 deafening discharge of thunder in their ears. 
 
 As they reached the wall they saw the car in its place, im- 
 patient, throbbing to be off. The bonnet was up, their 
 chauffeur in his seat, his cap pulled over his eyes, his bare 
 hands on the wheel. With Helena within and Mr. Bud's 
 foot on the running board he gave the directions. 
 
 "Go like the devil !" was all he said. 
 
 The motor car, like some trained animal of bone and 
 sinew, sprang forward. It shot along the sand, while 
 another clap of thunder passed over their heads. Under 
 the bonnet Mr. Buel did not speak. Helena's first intima- 
 tion of danger was when a flash of lightning revealed his 
 face to her. She saw it was grey with stiff lips. 
 
 A sound had suddenly risen as though conjured up by 
 magic and she saw all about them the incoming tide. She 
 remembered reading that the tide which covered the flats 
 half the time, separating Mount St. Michael from the main- 
 land, could exceed galloping horses. But she had never 
 supposed it was anything like this. Already it had blotted 
 out the sand in front. It passed like a sponge over their 
 tracks behind. It was frothing, gurgling; waves like mon- 
 sters were angrily showing their teeth. They had gone only 
 a quarter of the distance although the car was geared to 
 the third speed. The water was close to the running board. 
 In a moment the tool chest would be submerged. 
 
 "Turn back ! Turn back !" Mr. Buel cried hoarsely. 
 
 But the car continued on. 
 
 The chauffeur had flashed on the searchlights. Over the 
 angry surf risen menacingly, they played. This wall, glis- 
 tening, luminous, which blocked them, was like some black 
 volcanic action. And then its stiffness broke, surging and
 
 66 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 impalpable, only to rise again in terrifying assault. Helena 
 realised the danger, but she did not speak. She could not 
 make herself heard above the storm. She was horror- 
 stricken by its violence. For a second she closed her eyes 
 so as not to see its imminence intensified by the light ahead. 
 And at that moment the light was cut off. 
 
 She realised at once what had happened. The storage 
 battery just above the running board had been reached. 
 The water had risen to that point depriving them of light. 
 The storm, the surrounding water, seemed elements all at 
 once removed from her. Her thoughts clung persistently 
 to all the more discreditable moments in her life. She was 
 not thinking of her peril nor of her chances of escape, nor 
 yet of the man beside her, but of her mother at home. She 
 was wishing she might have been the means of bringing 
 her greater comfort. That she had at all times shown Annis 
 as much consideration as it was in her power to do. But 
 these thoughts were torn aside. 
 
 "Turn back, damn you ! Turn back ! Don't you see what 
 you're doing!" 
 
 The car was making less headway. The hind wheels 
 failing of any grip revolved uselessly, churning water. 
 Flashes of lightning followed each other so as to be al- 
 most continuous. For the first time Helena noticed that 
 the causeway seemed to be moving with them. She had 
 selected a portion of broken masonry she could distinguish 
 ahead of them. After several seconds they were not per- 
 ceptibly nearer to it. 
 
 "Go back! Do you hear me? Or by God I'll ..." 
 
 A report of thunder came so close that she fancied the 
 causeway had been hit. 
 
 All at once the chauffeur realised his mistake. He had at- 
 tempted the impossible. He stopped the car. For an instant 
 he hesitated, thinking to turn. Then he realised that could 
 not be done. He reversed and they backed toward the 
 island on first speed. The floor boards were wet. The 
 water was now spouting up through the clutch. There was 
 a great sputtering and pulsing from the engine. They con-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 67 
 
 tinued to back seemingly an inch at a time. Their progress 
 was almost imperceptible, and then ceased. 
 
 The car under them was fighting like a creature being 
 strangled. Its whole body quivered for breath. It made 
 heroic attempts to move. The water had only to rise a few 
 inches more and they were powerless. If it reached the 
 ignition generator the engine would go cold. Nothing could 
 help them then. It was like watching something die. 
 
 She looked at her lover's face, fascinated by the terror 
 of it She wondered if she looked like that. He was afraid 
 for her sake. But she was not afraid. If this were death 
 she knew she would not shame herself in any paroxysm of 
 fear. 
 
 It seemed minutes later that the machine was once more 
 moving. They were creeping through water that hit against 
 the side of the car audibly. She wondered if Williams, un~ 
 able to see where he was going, had not lost all sense of 
 direction. She realised suddenly they could not make it. 
 Their progress was a matter of inches. 
 
 Again they stopped. The carburetor or coils had been 
 reached. Some vital organ was paralysed. She felt thft 
 water on the floor of the car but did not think to lift her 
 feet. Even though he could get the engine going she knew 
 it would be useless. . . . The next wave washed over tha 
 door, drenching her. The car settled. She realised what 
 that meant. They had struck the quicksand. 
 
 Helena was amazed that she could no longer distinguish 
 anything. The rain was coming down in a curtain of vio- 
 lence that blinded all view from them. It was beating in 
 under the bonnet. Buel tore open the door, letting in a 
 wash of water. 
 
 "We've got to swim," he cried in her face. "Don't let your 
 feet touch bottom, or it's death." 
 
 He did not pronounce the more dreaded word, but she 
 understood. He was at her side, on the running board, then 
 struck out. She followed him. The cold water caught her 
 breath as she laid herself upon it and began an impeded 
 stroke. Each wave broke over her face. She persevered
 
 68 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 for several minutes. She felt she was stationary. She- 
 was a good swimmer and not tired. She reminded herself 
 it was a long distance and she was using too much effort. 
 She curbed nervousness. Her stroke became even, methodi- 
 cal. Her arms were tired. It wasn't fancy or terror. She 
 was weighted with clothes. She knew suddenly she had 
 reached almost her capacity. She was without breath to call. 
 
 At that moment a hand was thrust forcibly under her 
 chin. . . . And she continued as in a dream. Movements 
 of arms and feet . . . slowly . . . again . . . again . . . 
 again. Later an arm encircled her waist. She relaxed en- 
 tirely, gave up. At length she was aware the struggle was 
 over. She opened her eyes. Buel's face was above hers. 
 He was carrying her in his arms, his feet on the ground. 
 The water was now only breast high. Before them were 
 the lights of the island. She smiled. Vaguely she realised 
 what he had done, but she was too exhausted for grati- 
 tude. Experiencing a faint sense of well-being she closed 
 them again and let her head sink toward him. 
 
 Never was there such strength in the world, she thought, 
 detached, fragmentary, as she resigned herself to his care. 
 She was conscious of the sinew of his arms through his 
 wet sleeves. He continued to bear her dead weight against 
 the surge of water. Then nothing seemed to matter and 
 she was at rest. 
 
 Reaching shore he laid her on the rocks and called to the 
 chauffeur. He continued to call. There was no answer. Then 
 he went back, disappearing in the rain. She heard more 
 shouting. He was giving direction to the miserable Williams 
 to get men to drag the car out of the water with ropes. 
 
 She was cold now. She had managed to rise. Her teeth 
 were chattering. 
 
 "Shall we walk across," she asked, as he reached her side. 
 
 "Walk? You must be crazy. The causeway isn't safe." 
 
 "Then how am I going to get back ?" 
 
 Mr. Buel looked at the eddying water churning beneath 
 them like boiling milk before he answered: 
 
 "You can't get back to-night."
 
 VII 
 
 IT was past the noon hour next day when Miss Gass 
 leapt from Mr. Buel's car and running across the turf, 
 mounted the verandah steps and opened the house door. 
 Madame de Lanel was probably in the music room, she con- 
 cluded, as she found the library deserted. Since there was 
 no one there, however, she hesitated before continuing her 
 investigations. 
 
 She had left her fiance with scant ceremony, vetoing his 
 suggestion that he assist her with her explanation to her 
 host and hostess. She knew she was about to face an 
 unpleasant quarter of an hour ; the facts were not plausible, 
 but at least she wished to tell her own story in her own 
 way. 
 
 She would recount it breathlessly, she decided, attempt- 
 ing to make light of no detail. But since she would as- 
 sure them that the contretemps had resulted in no evil con- 
 sequences as they had seen no one whom they knew and 
 had made use of fictitious names, all was well. She rang 
 for the parlour-maid and after some detention that func- 
 tionary appeared. 
 
 In reply to Miss Cass's question she was informed that 
 'Monsieur 'dame' had driven to Rennes and would not re- 
 turn before evening. Helena's first sensation was one of 
 disappointment. She had rehearsed the story and wished 
 to recount it while it was still fresh. All its ingeniousness 
 would be lost in a delay of five hours. It would appear 
 stupid and sordid enough when stripped of her teHing as 
 an occurrence just passed. The essentials and effects 
 seemed already to have eluded her, so that what was in- 
 tended to be passed off as a prank and escapade, now began 
 to appear ugly and sinister. 
 
 Helena went to her room, removed her hat and looked 
 
 69
 
 7 o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 steadfastly in the mirror at her reflection. After a few mo- 
 ments of silent scrutiny she decided that she was glad 
 they were away. Her clothes had become drenched in the 
 storm and were now discoloured and shapeless. The sleeve 
 of her chiffon blouse had been torn by Mr. Buel when he 
 had attempted to wrest her from the machine. Her face 
 was haggard after a sleepless night and dark rings encircled 
 her eyes. 
 
 She bathed, brushed her hair, threw herself down upon 
 her bed and at length slept from exhaustion. When she 
 awoke the afternoon was over. Recoiffed, she selected a 
 dinner dress which suited her and went downstairs to await 
 the arrival of the de Lanels. Taking a volume of Chateau- 
 briand from the bookshelves she settled herself in a deep 
 chair and pretended to read. She wished to look casual 
 and since she was living in the Chateaubriand country, her 
 choice of authors was not an infliction. In reality the book 
 did not hold her attention, for she was rehearsing her story 
 with growing uneasiness, while she listened for carriage 
 wheels. 
 
 A few moments later dinner was announced and she rose, 
 crossed the hall, crushing any hypersensitiveness as she 
 stiffened to a cooler atmosphere. The Lanels had not seen 
 fit to send her any message of their arrival and she was 
 evidently to meet them at table. As she entered the dining 
 room she saw that a cover had been laid for only one. 
 When she questioned Baptiste, the valet-de-pied, she was 
 told the hour of their return was so uncertain she was not 
 expected to delay dinner. 
 
 Suddenly she was gripped by a thought which shook her. 
 Suppose the Marquise de Lanel refused to return to the 
 chateau so long as she remained there? The very idea 
 was like the pressure of ice upon her brain. She attempted 
 to cast off any such foreboding with the easy sophistry 
 that there were limits even to the treachery of a friend. 
 Edith wouldn't stoop to any such disingenuous methods. 
 But, as the thought formed in her mind, she found herself 
 totally without measure to gauge her hostess's actions. Her
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 71 
 
 acquaintance with Miss Doelger in the past had been lim- 
 ited almost entirely to that lady's protestions on paper. Be- 
 fore the present Marquise de Lanel's predispositions she 
 was helpless in any effort at analysis. 
 
 As the possible result of any such act amplified itself, 
 she realised how complete was her intrapment. She felt 
 a moment's constriction in her breathing. She had supplied 
 Madame de Lanel with an escapade which the woman 
 could shape to her own advantage. The wires being down 
 she had been unable to communicate in any way from St. 
 Michael. Nor was it surprising that Edith was not dis- 
 posed to believe the facts since she had remained away all 
 night. It was annoying, she argued, that all her life the 
 most untoward circumstances seemed naturally to gravi- 
 tate to her. 
 
 She consulted her watch. It was ten o'clock. She put 
 down her book on the canape. There was no use in simu- 
 lation now. She remained rigid; in thought. 
 
 Her mind went back to what had very likely been a plan 
 from the first. Her impatience rose at her credulity in 
 acceding to the scheme to go alone with Mr. Buel. Edith 
 had been looking for the means of evicting her, and now 
 she had supplied her with the necessary evidence. The 
 woman's construction of what really happened would be 
 her excuse for making it impossible for her to return home 
 until her guest signified her intention of leaving. 
 
 Following the meal, eaten alone, she returned to the 
 library and the pretence of her book. What more was Edith 
 planning now ? And what was to follow ? That their de- 
 lay was intentional she knew, but just what form her hos- 
 tess's incivility would take she could not forecast. 
 
 At length her thoughts drifted from the de Lanels back 
 to Jordan Buel and the hours which had followed their dis- 
 covery that they could not return to the mainland that 
 night. Back at the inn Mr. Buel had registered as "William 
 Jordan and Miss Jordan, New York." Supposedly brother 
 and sister. They had been assigned rooms side by side. 
 She would have preferred to have been given a room in one
 
 72 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 of their dependencies, but could not ask for it without 
 arousing suspicion. And so she had gone to her room, re- 
 moved her clothes and lain there in bed while her own gar- 
 ments were dried before the great oven downstairs. They 
 had been rather subdued at dinner and later, the rain having 
 ceased, they had taken a short walk and at nine thirty she 
 had gone upstairs for the night. For a long time she re- 
 mained musing. When she thought to look at the clock 
 again it lacked a few minutes to midnight. 
 
 She rose abruptly, went into the hall, opened the house 
 door and stepped out onto the terrace. The stillness of 
 the night was all-encompassing. It was difficult to realise 
 that less than fifty miles away a storm had ravaged the 
 coast. She crossed the carriage-sweep and looked down the 
 drive. There was no sign of an approaching vehicle. 
 Above the stars looked small and lusterless in a pale sum- 
 mer sky. The silence on her return was cavernous. There 
 came a sudden twitching in a nearby plane tree. She sus- 
 pected it was a squirrel she had attempted to make friends 
 with a few days before. She reascended the step to the 
 terrace and walked to the rear of the chateau. As she lin- 
 gered there she noticed a light in the stable some distance 
 away and heard a cow's dismal moo. 
 
 She remained standing, her mind a blank. After a mo- 
 ment she was conscious she was not alone. Turning she 
 saw that Baptiste was waiting at a respectful distance. 
 She asked if there was anything wrong at the stable, and 
 he replied simply that he suspected that one of the cows 
 was calving. 
 
 Miss Cass realised suddenly that he was waiting to lock 
 the doors. She said good-night casually, and a moment 
 later she heard him closing the jalousies as she climbed 
 the stairs to her room. 
 
 She did not sleep easily that night. In fact, she thought 
 she had scarcely closed her eyes when, opening them, she 
 saw the sunlight, and realised that several hours had been 
 lost. At ten she rang for her breakfast, which was brought 
 on a tray to her bedside. Miss Cass felt she was more or
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 73 
 
 less an object of scrutiny to the servants. Glancing up 
 from her coffee and roll, she asked if Madame would ap- 
 pear at luncheon downstairs. It was as near a direct ques- 
 tion as she cared to ask if they had returned home. But 
 the maid discreetly dropped her eyes and replied that she 
 did not know. 
 
 Miss Cass remained in her room all morning. It was 
 past the noon hour when, descending the stairs, she heard 
 someone playing. She waited irresolute on the landing 
 until the last notes of the Chaminade etude ended, then 
 with her features under control she entered the music 
 room. She found her hostess's manner as she rose from 
 the piano scarcely colder or more prohibitory than usual, 
 and Helena took heart, and with an infectious chuckle 
 launched into her explanation of her absence. She felt a 
 purely feminine regret that Monsieur de Lanel was not 
 there; she knew instinctively that her own prepossessions 
 would incline him to accept her story favorably. 
 
 "I don't know what you've thought of me, Edith, unless 
 you've heard of the storm. But it couldn't be at all the 
 same thing here as on the water. The causeway was 
 broken and we couldn't get back. It was annoying, but 
 what could we " 
 
 "Please, not a word, here is Tristram." 
 
 "But I insist! I must explain." 
 
 Miss Cass remained flushed but impenitent. 
 
 "It isn't necessary. It would grieve him, and if you wish 
 me to speak very plainly, it would shock him too. French- 
 men don't look upon such things the way American men are 
 taught to do. And for myself I don't care to hear it. You 
 have your own code of what is becoming and of course you 
 must live up to that." 
 
 No further reference was ever made to her night at 
 Mount St. Michael, but Miss Cass often felt that Madame 
 de Lanel had supplied a different story to her husband. 
 She used to watch his eyes follow her when she entered 
 a room, and experienced a curious sensation of guilt, but 
 she was allowed no opportunity to reopen the subject.
 
 74 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Supposing that Helena had been able to make her peace 
 by that time, Jordan Buel motored over from St. Lo two 
 days later. After inquiring to see the two ladies, Madame 
 de Lanel sent down word she was not at home, and Miss 
 Cass, wishing to remove all thought of duplicity, insisted 
 upon seeing him on the terrace. She remained directly 
 beneath the sitting-room windows, conscious that the Mar- 
 quise was observing them from behind curtains. She was 
 uncommunicative to a degree, and did not raise the veil 
 she was wearing. Mr. Buel attempted to lighten her de- 
 pression, but the word was not vouchsafed him whereby 
 they could reascend to the ease of past intercourse. He 
 saw she was worried, and after ten minutes, in which he 
 had been unable to extract anything but monosyllables from 
 her, Miss Cass begged him to leave, so as not to compli- 
 cate conditions already acute. 
 
 "I've got to leave by the end of the week," she declared. 
 "It is just a question of where I shall go." 
 
 After the snort of his car was no longer heard and the 
 querulous sound of his horn died away, she recalled the 
 recent advent of the calf and walked idly toward the stable. 
 Her host had taken her on a tour of inspection, showing 
 her his horses, the splendid work-animals and the bullocks 
 in the paddock, shortly after her arrival. This attention 
 had been more the result of seeming to apologize for Edith's 
 hours of absenting herself. He had been conscious that 
 their guest had been denied the usual sources of entertain- 
 ment, but at length had given up all efforts to provide for 
 her amusement, since it was a duty in no way shared by 
 his wife. 
 
 Miss Cass entered the stables feeling that she knew her 
 way about them. The floor of the carriage-house was 
 sanded in horticultural and zoological patterns, an art which 
 was the delight of a stable helper. Along the walls behind 
 glass doors hung the harness for the various traps, all 
 spotless, nickel and silver bits gleaming. She made her 
 way out into the court, where beneath the stable clock 
 and weather-vane the box stalls faced each other in a wide
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 75 
 
 rectangle. Beyond was a paddock to which various stalls 
 had access, and, passing through one, where the half-door 
 was open, she found a stable lad laying fresh straw. He 
 told her in his strange patois that the calf was "out yon- 
 der." Against the bars stood the cow, her pelt cream 
 colour and white and soft to Helena's hand. Her great 
 earnest eyes glowed like immense garnets and in their 
 liquid depths Helena saw herself reflected. The cow re- 
 garded her a moment in doubt while she sniffed at her 
 skirt, then exhaled her warm breath, fragrant of grass. 
 The calf was on its knees beneath its mother and made 
 petulant sounds because the teats were not longaged for 
 its convenience, so as to reach them without rising. Helena 
 stooped to stroke the new-born animal, and the salf took 
 one of her pink fingers in its mouth and attempted to 
 wring sustenance from it. 
 
 "Oh, you darling," she exclaimed aloud. 
 
 When she arose a moment later she noticed that the 
 Marquis was an observer. He was dressed in riding 
 clothes, which he frequently wore all day, never changing 
 until dinner. He was observing her with a shade more 
 interest than he had ever shown, through a near-sighted, 
 single eye-glass. 
 
 Miss Cass, who accommodated herself to country life 
 with less effort than the average Parisienne, was wearing 
 a dress of white flannel, deck shoes and a Homburg hat. 
 The Marquis was aware that she made a not unattractive 
 picture. 
 
 "You are really interested in cattle, aren't you ?" he asked 
 skeptically. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. I enjoy the usual abysmal ignorance of 
 the American woman, but I'm really interested in all things 
 all things, but one." 
 
 "And what can that be?" 
 
 "Human nature!'' 
 
 Monsieur de Lanel smiled. 
 
 "Why that point of view?"
 
 7 6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "I'm awful tired of my own kind; there's something 
 wonderful in the loyalty of animals." 
 
 She continued to stroke the cow's silken hide. The 
 calf, embarrassed by too close attention, had struggled up 
 insecurely and sidled off, as though on stilts, moving un- 
 steadily on over-long, stiff legs. 
 
 "And people? Why these aspersions against your own 
 countrywomen? I suppose you mean them? I've found 
 your countrywomen most intelligent." 
 
 "Of course Edith is an exception," she remarked negli- 
 gently. "But we are amazingly ignorant. I am thinking 
 only of the fashionable women of America. Nous ne savons 
 rien de rlen. We want only the best without even recog- 
 nising it when we see it. We don't know art or music, or 
 even pearls, as French women do. We don't take an in- 
 telligent interest in politics, like Englishwomen; nor do we 
 know flowers or gardens. We keep gardeners to tell us 
 the names of the blooms in our own greenhouses. We 
 don't know cattle, although the greatest herds in the world 
 are in America, and most of the fortunes in the West 
 are derived from them. . . . But yes, we will spend 
 hours discussing the construction of a dress. We pride 
 ourselves upon our understanding of dress." 
 
 "You are prejudiced against the charm of vour own 
 ladies." 
 
 Conscious of having hit off the frailties of her hostess 
 too accurately, she sought to divert his attention, 
 
 "Look," she exclaimed, "that precious baby is mixing his 
 front legs with his hind ones." 
 
 At a short distance all four legs of the calf had become 
 crossed like a camp-chair and it sent up a little quaver of 
 distress to its mother. But the cow continued placidly to 
 revolve the grass in its mouth, not to be concerned by such 
 puerilities. And the calf, suddenly disentangling its legs, 
 moved a little nearer. Later returning to the warm ma- 
 ternal flanks it pressed its head against its mother's udder 
 and closed its eyes with gratification.
 
 77 
 
 Miss Cass and de Lanel walked away to the other end 
 of the paddock. 
 
 "Take the case of Bebe's father," he said, and she thought 
 he made use of the petit name as a means of avoiding the 
 difficulty in pronouncing the "th" in Edith. "He is quite a 
 celebrated savant in America, I understand." 
 
 "Savant." She repeated the word blankly. "He made 
 his money in the manufacture of starch." 
 
 For a moment neither spoke. Then the Marquis was at 
 haste to continue: 
 
 "Of course I know that." 
 
 She realised in a moment that this was a version of his 
 father-in-law's accumulation which he had never heard 
 before. His expression of disappointment was not at the 
 source of their fortune but at Edith's having lied. His 
 argument suddenly lost pith and he remained silent. 
 
 They were aroused a moment later by the appearance of 
 Madame de Lanel. Edith had effected the Parisienne's 
 helplessness in matters of le sport. Ordinarily she satisfied 
 her passion for tennis or golf by strolling over well-trimmed 
 turf, carrying a racket or a machie with a necessaire stocked 
 with a mirror and make-up requisites. To-day Madame 
 de Lanel lifted her draperies above the heavy bedding of 
 straw and opened the half door with the use of two im- 
 maculate jewelled fingers. 
 
 "The post has just come," she said. "It has brought 
 several letters for you, Tristram. I put them in your 
 study." 
 
 Without a word he left obediently and made his way 
 back to the chateau. 
 
 The Marquise turned to survey Helena. 
 
 "What were you talking about?" she asked. 
 
 For a moment Miss Cass did not reply and the two 
 women confronted each other silently as though measuring 
 their weapons. 
 
 "We were speaking of the patrician qualities of certain 
 cattle," she answered. 
 
 Madame de Lanel smiled.
 
 78 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "I am glad you have a taste in common. I'm so stupid 
 about the stable, and now that the groom of the chambers 
 is away, Tristram has no one to talk to about such matters. 
 I know you don't mind my saying this. It is sans rancune, 
 of course." 
 
 "Oh, sans rancune, by all means." 
 
 Madame de Lanel raised a diminutive square of scented 
 mauve lawn to her nostrils as though to rid her of any 
 reminder of the stable, and then picked her way back as 
 she had come. 
 
 Miss Cass remained in the paddock, puzzled. She was 
 unable to account for the forbearance in Madame de 
 Lanel's retort. Ever since her return she had been waiting 
 for some form of punishment that was being withheld. 
 She had hoped to face her flaying the next morning and 
 have it over. She realised suddenly the curiously with- 
 drawn manner and guarded speech of the Marquise boded 
 evil. She could afford to do her guest no further injury 
 since she had already seen to that the night she spent at 
 Rennes. Her coup was launched. And she was waiting 
 to have its effect reach its victim. Nothing else could ex- 
 plain her calm eyes and compressed lips. She was waiting. 
 At the thought Helena's fear increased because the sources 
 of detriment were unknown. 
 
 She had told Jordan Buel she must leave by the end of 
 the week. Accordingly on the tenth day following her 
 excursion she was seated in her room repacking her trunk 
 when she saw a carriage coming up the drive. She was on 
 her knees in front of the window and noticed suddenly 
 that it held an occupant beside the coachman. A woman, 
 but not the Marquise. She remained speculating as to her 
 identity. It was not until the carriage stopped, and the 
 lady was assisted to alight, that she saw with amazement 
 that the visitor was her mother.
 
 VIII 
 
 So great was her surprise that at first a feeling of fear, 
 almost of paralysis, kept her from movement. Then she 
 rose, tore open the door to her room to run down the 
 passage. She found her mother already on the landing on 
 her way up to her. 
 
 Helena gave a little cry of delight and apprehension. 
 
 "Mater, what is it? What has happened?" 
 
 Their embrace was silent. Mrs. Cass looked at Her 
 daughter earnestly and in that single scrutiny knew Helena 
 had changed in some impalpable way. It was not that she 
 made no effort to conceal her present unhappiness ; she was 
 diffident; her first impression was that she and her daugh- 
 ter had grown strangely apart, and Helena's unhappiness 
 was no trivial matter. 
 
 They climbed the stairs in silence and entered Miss 
 Cass's room and her mother closed the door behind them. 
 
 "Mother, tell me, is anyone ill?" 
 
 "No, dear." 
 
 "Has anything gone wrong at home ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But if everyone's well I don't understand. Why are 
 you here?" 
 
 "I am here because I was cabled for." 
 
 "Who cabled?" 
 
 "Madame de Lanel. She sent a message over a week 
 ago asking that I come and fetch you, because your con- 
 duct with Mr. Buel was such that she could not be respon- 
 sible for you any longer." 
 
 "She sent those words over the wires?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Helena gripped her fingers together and then tore them 
 apart in a moment of uncontrollable anger. 
 
 79
 
 8o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "That woman is a fearful bounder," she cried. "She 
 only did it out of jealousy of me. It isn't Jordan she 
 objects to but Monsieur de Lanel. She is jealous of his 
 smallest attentions to me, and he only persists in them 
 because of her discourtesy." 
 
 "The message in itself explains the woman, but I won- 
 der her husband allowed it." 
 
 "What could he do?" 
 
 "I should have thought he would have remonstrated." 
 
 "What could he say? What could anybody say? Very 
 likely he didn't know it. After all he's only a man and 
 men are all alike. Men only differ in their wives." 
 
 She threw herself vigorously on the bed, her shoulders 
 shaking convulsively, her face buried in the pillows. 
 
 "Helena, Helena," Mrs. Cass expostulated. "This isn't 
 like you. You aren't crying?" 
 
 She spoke with real alarm, for it was years since she had 
 seen her daughter cry. 
 
 Helena sat up shamefacedly. 
 
 "No, I'm not, but it's only because I don't know how," 
 she confessed as she gave a rueful twisted smile. "I'd like 
 to. I'd like to howl." 
 
 "How long is it going to take you to finish your packing? 
 I told the carriage to wait If you hurry we can take it 
 Hack to Rennes and stop there for the night. It is im- 
 possible for either of us to remain here." 
 
 Twenty minutes later her trunks packed and carried 
 downstairs, Helena made inquiries to see Madame de Lanel 
 and bade her good-bye, but was told she was "not at home" 
 and Monsieur le Marquis was riding and his return un- 
 certain. 
 
 "Naturally she would remain tinder cover before you, 
 Mater. I suppose she's in her own room now behind 
 locked doors." 
 
 "Why should you want to meet her?" 
 
 "I don't. Except that I despise a coward. If I ever 
 stooped to so low a method, I would at least face it. Any- 
 way I haven't forgotten my breeding/' she said as she was
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 81 
 
 handed into the carriage beside her mother and they were 
 driven away. 
 
 They spent the night at Rennes and took the early train 
 to Paris where Miss Cass was once more installed at the 
 Meurice. 
 
 The first few days were given over to a ceaseless activity 
 of dressmakers and sightseeing. A round of the ateliers 
 of the best craftsmen of Paris had assured them they were 
 in need of many things which it would be ill advised to 
 return to America without acquiring. It was one morn- 
 ing after a particularly long and tedious "trying-on" at an 
 establishment in the Rue Cambon that, motoring up the 
 Champs Elysees under the flowering chestnuts, Mrs. Cass 
 asked her first question. 
 
 "How did Mr. Buel happen to be in Brittany at the 
 same time as you?" 
 
 "I wondered why you didn't ask that before." 
 
 "I have been waiting to see if you would tell me of your 
 own accord." 
 
 After Helena had finished her explanation Mrs. Cass felt 
 that her daughter's avowal had not taken quite the form 
 which she had intended. She looked at her mother with 
 compassion and admiration. Mrs. Cass was far from a 
 beautiful woman, but there was something restful in her 
 being deliberately middle-aged. Her appearance was al- 
 ways dowdy, but a dowdiness which suggested means ; her 
 failure at smartness seeming more from intent than from 
 want of skill. She wore no jewellery but the broad, un- 
 sightly band bought at a period when wedding rings were 
 wide, and a pair of diamond earrings Mr. Cass had given 
 her when they were married, which she slept in and never 
 removed. One forgot her shortcomings after seeing the 
 steadfastness of her eyes; eyes before which secrets ceased 
 to be secrets. 
 
 "We are in harmony, you and I, mother. Why can't life 
 always be as pleasant? It would be so much easier if 
 father wouldn't deliberately misunderstand me, and censure 
 everyone who is not exactly like himself."
 
 2 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "You know your father's peculiarities. The only thing 
 for you to do is to attempt not to rouse them." 
 
 "Every time I came home I tried to iron myself flat 
 before I entered the house. I prefer never to express an 
 opinion. But you wouldn't have me cowed like Annis, 
 would you? The only freedom that I can see in store for 
 the two of us is to marry, quickly, and get away. But 
 there is no one paying Annis any attention/is there?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, directly I am married I promise I shall take her 
 in hand and see what I can do for her." 
 
 Miss Cass had spoken with greater temerity than she 
 knew. Several seconds elapsed before she realised that 
 she never expressed herself so definitely since her father 
 had issued his edicts that Mr. Buel was not to enter his 
 home again, and that Helena's ring was to be immediately 
 returned. 
 
 Mrs. Cass's eyes travelled from her daughter's averted 
 profile to her ungloved hands clasped in her lap where the 
 diamond winked, every facet one of fire in the sunlight. 
 
 "Then you intend to marry Mr. Buel?" she asked at 
 length. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I be frank with you, mother ? You know 
 I intend to. I've always intended to, even when I seemed 
 to give up for peace sake when father was so rampageous 
 with all that melodramatic fustian about 'not darkening his 
 door.' If poor father only had a sense of humour he 
 would realise that sort of thing is outdated, and not a little 
 absurd. It would put an end to our intriguing. I'm not bad. 
 I'm amenable to tact, but I won't be whipped. Why, I 
 know enough even about horses to know that the animal 
 who submits to a whipping is good for nothing. I sup- 
 pose there's enough of father in me to rebel. I'm a blooded 
 animal, not good old Dobbin to be driven between the 
 shafts. . . . Mother, when we return, won't you try to 
 urge father to reconsider his attitude toward Jordan ? After 
 all, he knows nothing against him, does he?" 
 
 "No."
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 83 
 
 "Then isn't his dislike childish?" 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "I don't want to be married furtively in runaway style. 
 I have a personal loathing of deceit and elopements and 
 the usual procedure of ill-breeding. I want to go up to 
 Lohengrin and come back to Mendelssohn in true orthodox 
 manner. You will urge him, won't you?" 
 
 "I will if I can." 
 
 "Why do you say 'if you can ?' " 
 
 "Because at present I share your father's dislike of Mr. 
 Buel." 
 
 "You dislike Jordan?" 
 
 "I don't like him. What I blame your father for doing 
 is opposing the match at the start. I think you cared very 
 little for Mr. Buel until your father began his abuse of him. 
 I believe if he had consented and urged the match you 
 would never have become engaged." 
 
 "Do you think I am quite so perverse?" 
 
 Helena flushed but her mother continued imperturbably : 
 
 "I believe your first real attraction to the man began 
 when he was berated. You felt that it was done behind 
 his back and you undertook his defence yourself. The 
 more detractors he had, the more ardent your defence. 
 You soon felt you couldn't live without him. Do you feel 
 that way now?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Miss Cass remained silent a moment after this admission, 
 then she said: 
 
 "On what do you base your opinion? Have you heard 
 anything against him?" 
 
 "Not a thing. It is purely personal. I feel he is not a 
 man to interest you after the first few months of love- 
 making are over. He is the first man, so far as I know, 
 to be very much in love with you. That in itself has its 
 effect. When the time comes when you can allow him to 
 take your hand without any perceivable rise of temperature, 
 you will see him as I do. I want to spare you that. I 
 don't prohibit your marrying him, Helena, I only ask you
 
 84 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 to wait. I will urge your father to allow him to come to 
 the house on our return if you will not announce your en- 
 gagement until four months later. By that time you should 
 know. Is that fair?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And in the meantime you will not see him or speak of 
 him to me ? You agree to that ?" 
 
 "If you wish." 
 
 "And as soon as you cease to love him you will tell me ?" 
 
 "Mother, I shall love Jordan as long as I live." 
 
 "No doubt. But as soon as you cease to, you will tell 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 For some time following this conversation they remained 
 silent. 
 
 The taxicab was returning down the Rue de Rivoli and 
 drew up in front of the Meurice. 
 
 As Miss Cass made her way to the office for her key 
 the clerk handed her a note and two cards. She took them 
 with a feeling of intense curiosity as she recognised in a 
 glance that it was the angular penmanship of the Marquise 
 de Lanel, written on her tinted, scented, coroneted paper. 
 
 She tore open the note and read that dear, dear Nell must 
 be very much surprised at her delay in writing to say how 
 much she regretted not being at home when Nell left. She 
 had hoped Mrs. Cass would pay her a short visit and per- 
 haps, if their plans to return to America were not too defi- 
 nite, they would both come to her in the Spring. Chateau 
 life was pleasanter at that time of the year and she expected 
 a series of house parties which would be incomplete with- 
 out her. She would have written earlier but she had been 
 very occupied in connection with the charity ball, and speak- 
 ing of that, she did not know just how angry she should be 
 with Nell for deserting her before it had been pulled off. 
 As it was Comte Andre had asked after her and Tristram 
 remarked how much he had missed her. Anticipating her 
 return and her mother's in the Spring, she sent much love 
 to both, but especially Nell, from her ever fondly Edith.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 85 
 
 Miss Cass read the note through twice in blank amaze- 
 ment. Had the woman taken leave of her senses? Her 
 feeling at first was one of indignation at what appeared to 
 be unbridled impertinence. Then she glanced at the 
 cards which depicted views of the chateau and were in- 
 scribed with like messages, though with greater restraint, 
 and signed : "Fondly, E. de L." 
 
 It was her first acquaintance with the childless, etheric 
 type of woman whose sex became a burden to her in out- 
 living her youth. She had not known it possible that 
 women depending entirely upon their femaleness for their 
 hold over husbands or lovers, became neuropathic, devel- 
 oped hallucinations, imagining every younger woman a 
 solicitant for the love of their mates. 
 
 Two days later brought another and more explosive let- 
 ter and after that the fusilade of endearments was recom- 
 menced with old-time vigour. Miss Cass threw these notes 
 all into the scrap basket with contemptuous disregard and 
 the single observation : 
 
 "That woman is a better subject for a series of sanatoria 
 than house parties." 
 
 During the odd hours which extended between ceaseless 
 shopping expeditions and futile trips to the dressmaker for 
 shifted or cancelled "fittings" they did those things which 
 two ladies alone in Paris were privileged to do. Thousands 
 of Americans thronged the pavements, and one day on 
 entering Rumplemeye.rs at the tea hour they came upon 
 Mrs. Slaterlee and her two young ladies. To Mrs. Cass's 
 suggestion that they leave and seek the Ritz, Helena was 
 not agreeable. Her mother had ordered pen and paper and 
 was engaged in writing a note and Miss Cass had opened 
 a newspaper to look up a theatre for the evening while 
 waiting for their order. In this way their acquaintances 
 were allowed to pass them without recognition so that Miss 
 Cass never knew if she had been observed or not. 
 
 Sometimes when they took their coffee on the terrace of 
 the de la Paix they sought cynical amusement in counting 
 the faces which they recalled having seen at home on the
 
 Avenue. They went to the more decorous theatres, and 
 even dined at the Madrid and had supper at L'Abbeye. 
 One warm hushed night when the scent of chestnuts and 
 flash of fireflies in the Bois made the thought of bed a 
 mockery they became a link in the procession of motors 
 after the theatre. Each car held a man and his companion 
 in evening dress, in search of some absurd or perverse 
 gaiety. The flattering glow of the Avenues was like some 
 artfully lighted drawing-room. Cigarette ends gleamed out 
 of the darkness of each car like suspended fireflies. 
 
 They stopped at a restaurant where the tables were set 
 up in the trees reached by a winding perpendicular staircase, 
 each table lighted by a suppressed gleam which might have 
 been produced by clusters of low-powered glow worms. 
 At first the magic of the picture held Miss Cass ; the tables 
 at various levels, the lights, the chaff called from one to the 
 other, frequently tasteless when accurately understood but 
 in keeping, typical, congruent. And in the distance beyond 
 the shrubberies the kaleidoscopic shifting of motor cars 
 without once breaking the endless deploy. In the haze of 
 the lake swans with prodigious gravity swam slowly across 
 placid water, or attempted to make night out of the vague 
 unreal splendour of this Paris day. 
 
 But as time passed she realised they were the only ladies 
 alone and their inconvenable position made itself felt. 
 Some of these people would go in the early morning to 
 Pre-Catalan and see the cows milked, filles galantes and 
 their companions, and be provided with glasses of warm 
 milk. At such moments she recalled Jordan Buel's sense 
 of fun, his willingness to enter into any sport, his strength 
 and hardihood which made him an assured victor. If he 
 had been in command that evening each minute would be 
 charged with the exchange of furtive glances and all the 
 intoxicating privileges of betrothal. 
 
 For there was no question of their not marrying. She 
 realised each day as the loss of him made itself more keenly 
 felt how spiritless, without savour, were the blanks which 
 extended between the hours of rising and going to bed.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 87 
 
 The tedium would have been relieved could she only recall 
 his anecdotes, his foolish mockery, but his name was not 
 to be spoken before her mother. 
 
 Paris under the circumstances revoked his image too 
 distressfully to be pleasant to a girl in love, and without 
 adequate substance to satisfy. At first she hoped that in 
 the hazards of every day movement they might run across 
 him, the days foreigners followed being all very much of 
 the same motiveless plan. But at length that hope was 
 renounced and the unreasoning need of getting away 
 became vehement. 
 
 It was one morning when, their dressmaking completed, 
 they were leaving Boue Soeurs on their way to Cook's to 
 book their return passage for America, that Helena re- 
 marked : 
 
 "Must we go home directly? You need a vacation, 
 mother. Isn't there some quiet place that you would like to 
 go?" 
 
 And so it happened that they emerged into Rue de 1'Opera 
 with tickets to Madrid and had planned a brief trip ia 
 Spain, booked to sail four weeks later from Cadiz.
 
 IX 
 
 MRS. CASS and her daughter were quartered at the de la 
 Paz in the Puerta del Sol. All the carriages and motor 
 cars of the city passed in a double file beneath their win- 
 dows out the Calle de Alcala to the Prado, returning by 
 the Carrera San Jeronimo. They soon acquired the habit 
 of spending their evenings in driving to the Prado, there 
 to alight and stroll along the gravelled walks under the 
 plane and ilex trees, watching the leaping fountains that 
 sought to cool the summer air and listening to the music 
 out of doors. 
 
 This was an animated scene frequented by all walks of 
 life. Ladies of Madrid in Paris hats, with only an occa- 
 sional older woman wearing the native mantilla; peasants 
 and work girls, their heads uncovered showing thick black 
 hair, glossy as though powdered with diamond dust, a red 
 rose or an immense fringed carnation worn above the 
 forehead; young girls attempting to return the glances of 
 students in spite of watchful duennas ; nurses with infants 
 in perambulators sleeping through all the hubbub; and 
 slightly older children who raced between the legs of 
 pedestrians and played at bull fighting among the myrtles. 
 And accosting each person as they passed were beggars 
 who asked for charity with all the nerve and decorum of 
 diplomatists and the caballero accosted proved himself the 
 equal of the beggar in courtesy by discharging the obliga- 
 tion. 
 
 At midnight the crowds remained undiminished, viva- 
 cious, orderly, without insult or drunkenness. And al- 
 though pickpockets might ply their trade it was done suave- 
 ly, with dignity. For Helena, feeling an alien hand in her 
 pocket, grasped a man's wrist. He bowed, raised his hat 
 with his free hand and remarked:
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 89 
 
 "My mistake, senorita." 
 
 And Miss Cass, embarrassed by her familiarity in hold- 
 ing his hand, instantly released it as her cheek flushed and 
 she murmured: 
 
 "I'm so sorry." 
 
 Later Helena and her mother both laughed. No matter 
 what their deed it would be impossible for these people to 
 lose their urbanity; they were the best bred of the world, 
 conscious of their reputation, and able to realise it. Here 
 indeed was the perfect democracy of a proud race in which 
 the hidalgo and the mendicant are treated alike, for to the 
 lady the beggar is a caballero no 'ess, and the caballero a 
 man, no more. 
 
 The heat became intense and even flooding the streets 
 three times a day failed to relieve an atmosphere that was 
 like the breath of a furnace. Leaves fell in the plazas 
 from a burning temperature more devastating than the cold 
 of winter. At noontime laborers in soiled blouses lay on 
 the pavements asleep in the attitudes of the dead, seeking 
 any protection from a sky of metal. In the poorer quarters 
 small boys played without orthodox garments and in front 
 of fruit shops tenders kept vigil, a duster of paper stream- 
 ers astir to discourage flies from the unsound fruit. 
 
 With the approach of evening streets that had been de- 
 serted sprang once more to life. The walking-sticks of 
 blind men were heard tapping the stones, boys balancing 
 trays heaped with apricots on their heads jostled the crowd. 
 With the darkness appeared heavily scented women, their 
 faces powdered as white as magnolia blossoms, indecisive 
 step and lingering eyes linking them as generic sisters to 
 the women of the Paris Boulevards. Niiios cried evening 
 papers above the rattle of wheels, policemen with sabres re- 
 spectfully conducted sisters of mercy across impassable 
 paseos and strangers were not free from the importunities 
 of men urging the last chance for the transfer of a lottery 
 ticket. 
 
 On the day of a corrida bands were to be heard tuning 
 up in the morning and playing at intervals throughout the
 
 9 o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 day. At an early hour the Calle de Alcala and its tribu- 
 taries became congested with vehicles of every description 
 drawn by horses, mules and asses, wedged in among 
 worldly motor-cars sounding impatient horns. The Mayor 
 and his family were seen to drive by in a barouche and 
 peasants in native costume had been passing all morning 
 carrying their lunches, on the way to the bull-ring to wait 
 patiently for hours in the sun. Sober-looking matadores 
 in costumes that dazzled the sunlight, each wearing the cape 
 thrown over one shoulder and twisted about the waist, and 
 the small round hat of tradition worn above the eyes, 
 responded gravely to the delight of their admirers. When 
 the espada of the hour was discovered driving among the 
 press he was received with acclamation, waving handker- 
 chiefs, cigarettes and flowers thrown from crowded bal- 
 conies. Field glasses were for sale or hire, sirops and 
 sherbets hawked outside and within the ring. . . . 
 
 It was on such a day that Mrs. Cass continued her per- 
 sistent trips to the Museo del Prado since the gallery was 
 cool and she was assured of being alone in the sala of 
 Velasquez. After remaining some time, catalogue in hand, 
 before the infant Don Carlo and Queen Isabel of Bourbon 
 she turned to Helena for comment and discovered she had 
 not noticed the pictures. She had observed her daughter's 
 waning attention for several days. The extreme heat had 
 made her pale and a lassitude had descended upon her that 
 she appeared unable to rouse. Sometimes through an entire 
 meal at the hotel she would not once open her lips to speak. 
 
 "You're tired?" 
 
 But Miss Cass scouted the idea. It wasn't fatigue, yet 
 for some reason Velasquez did not hold her attention. Her 
 mother proposed that they visit the house where he had 
 lived which was on exhibition. 
 
 "I really don't care to see it. You look shocked. Don't 
 protest. . . . I'll admit I'm in an ugly humour. Just don't 
 talk to me for a little while, please. I'm going for a long 
 walk. I'll be back before dinner and much better com- 
 pany."
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 91 
 
 "In this heat!" Mrs. Cass protested. 
 
 But Helena had gone. 
 
 One afiernoon while Mrs. Cass was taking a siesta 
 Helena started for a ramble on foot, passed the Royal Pal- 
 ace to the massive bridge which spans the Manzanares. In 
 late August this had shrunk to a half dozen rivulets, that 
 separated and rejoined across a sandy bar, but after winter 
 rains would become a considerable stream. Here kneeling 
 at work were all the laundresses of Madrid washing gar- 
 ments of every colour. While spread out to dry on the 
 bank were lines of crimson, orange, vermillion, like some 
 great horticulturist's experimental gardens. 
 
 Helena remained on the bridge watching the women at 
 work, struck by the colours under the fiery sun as form- 
 ing a picture. She suddenly noticed two Englishwomen 
 seated beneath the shelter of a sun-umbrella who were 
 sketching the scene. 
 
 The elder had risen and moved back for a better view of 
 her work and in glancing up caught Miss Cass's eye upon 
 her. She recognised her observer as English-speaking and 
 nodded : 
 
 "Picturesque, isn't it?" she observed. 
 
 "Very. I envy you. I was wishing I had brought my 
 materials." 
 
 "Do you sketch too?" 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "Then why don't you join us? You won't be in the way, 
 and there are crayons enough for us all." 
 
 They were working in water colour and pastel and at 
 their feet lay a tray of chalk of every hue. Helena seated 
 herself in the dust without further ceremony, accepted the 
 paper, clamped it to a drawing board and began to work 
 feverishly in silence. Their own sketches were more than 
 half finished and she was afraid they would be ready to 
 leave shortly. All the futile restlessness of past days left 
 her as she felt the crayons once more between her fingers. 
 Never had she wanted to do anything so much as sketch at 
 that moment.
 
 92 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 When at length, the sketch finished, they asked to see it 
 and she held it up for inspection, she realised that, in spite 
 of haste, it was a creditable drawing. It could not equal 
 the delicacy of theirs, but at least it was nothing she need 
 be ashamed to show, since it possessed a certain verve 
 coupled with a very accurate sense of colour. 
 
 "That's rather charming," the elder woman remarked. 
 "I like it. Have you done much sketching here ?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 "What a pity we didn't meet earlier. My sister and I have 
 just been on a sketching trip in the Sierra Morena but we're 
 returning home the first of the week. We found the most 
 delightful spot. I'll tell you the name. You must go there. 
 Every street of the village was 'paintable,' and such types ! 
 Madrid really isn't picturesque. It's getting very like Paris 
 and Brussels. One has to go to out-of-the-way places for 
 colour now, even in Spain." 
 
 While talking she had strapped up her camp stools, draw- 
 ing box and umbrella and they now set out to return to 
 town. 
 
 "Do tell me some more about this place," Helena pleaded. 
 "You make me restless to leave." 
 
 "It's delightfully inaccessible. The express stops at the 
 town of El Cerrito, which is the nearest point of communica- 
 tion. From there you take a diligence which leaves twice a 
 week and it is a three-hour journey. The diligence is canvas 
 covered, drawn by mules that have been carefully shorn so 
 that their backs and flanks carry out an imaginative design 
 and motto of their owner, which in the sunlight makes the 
 animals look as though their hides had been covered with 
 stamped velvet. The mules wear tasselled fly-nets and col- 
 lars of bells. It's a very exhilarating drive to Fuente la 
 Higuera. The village is situated high up in the mountains 
 past shrines for penitents, and little wayside hamlets. There 
 are herds of bearded goats, the herder with a rose behind 
 his ear, marching along singing some wild Spanish refrain 
 that is centuries old. Many of the inhabitants have never 
 seen a train and none of them speak any English except
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 93 
 
 the proprietor of the fonda, and his is very limited. But 
 his wife cooks a delicious olla and I'm very fond of Spanish 
 cooking. You should taste her blood pudding and pimento 
 omelet served with hearts of artichokes prepared in oil and 
 surrounded with yellow rice. . . . 
 
 "We were there three days and were sorry we couldn't 
 stay longer. It's such a pity that these places can't re- 
 main always the same. As an artist civilisation almost 
 breaks my heart. The world is becoming more shrewd 
 but less intelligent." 
 
 Here the younger woman remarked : 
 
 "Don't encourage my sister on that subject." 
 
 At the corner of the Calle de Alcala they bade each other 
 good-bye and Miss Cass returned to the hotel. 
 
 Helena was surprised that the enthusiasm of a chance 
 acquaintance should so have power to ignite her own. But 
 she felt that a sketching tour was the one thing that would 
 ease this irresolution of thought and inconsecutiveness of 
 action. It was better that she recommenced work, and since 
 she had enjoyed sketching that afternoon, wouldn't a week 
 at the village of Fuente la Higuera bring her forgetfulness 
 and quiet rebellious nerves? 
 
 She had always felt a peculiar contempt for the senti- 
 mental type of womanhood. And yet for days she had been 
 the victim of moods, of intense depression, in which she had 
 forced herself to long walks and drives because if she had 
 remained in their suite she would have lain on the floor 
 and kicked. She had a mental picture of herself in the 
 process of thus quieting her over-stimulation. Was this 
 love? . . . Where was her splendid control of the past, her 
 sane outlook, her untiring fondness of exercise, her unwill- 
 ingness to submit to tiresome conventions? At such mo- 
 ments she wished she had never seen Mr. Buel, and follow- 
 ing the thought she felt penitent tears rising and she knew 
 she wanted him as she never wanted anyone in her life. 
 And yet she could not talk of him to her mother, and that 
 in itself seemed to draw them apart. 
 
 But when the project of a trip was suggested Mrs. Cass
 
 94 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 agreed with the single reservation that they consult the 
 American Consul as to the safety of that region for two 
 foreign ladies travelling alone. 
 
 "Of course it's safe, mater. Those two English women 
 were there alone." 
 
 "Perhaps they were older than you." 
 
 "They were." 
 
 "And less attractive." 
 
 "Oh, hang my attractiveness. I'm hideous. I thought so 
 this morning when looking in the glass." 
 
 "You're not happy." 
 
 "Yes, I am. I didn't mean anything. Really I didn't. 
 And you mustn't mind what I say. I'm merely getting 
 jumpy." 
 
 That afternoon Mrs. Cass consulted Mr. Tooker, and 
 discovered that the American Consul knew very little about 
 that quarter of the Sierra Morena mountains where they 
 proposed going. He had held his official position many 
 years and travelled frequently by train without incident, 
 but more than that he could not say. He invited Mrs. Cass 
 to call upon him if he could be of use to her at any future 
 time. In view of this neutral response she decided to at- 
 tempt the trip. Since it was only for a week they would 
 carry hand-luggage and very little money, and then should 
 Fuente la Higuera fail to live up to expectations they could 
 continue to Cordoba. 
 
 This decision reached, Helena's face brightened and she 
 threw her arms about her mother's neck. 
 
 "Mumsy, you are the dearest creature that ever lived. I 
 wonder why I'm such a beast ? I feel I have it in me to be 
 a really nice person, I mean develop strength of character, 
 and yet I don't." 
 
 "You're thoughtless, that's all, but I know you're going 
 to overcome that." 
 
 And yet that evening when Mrs. Cass descended to a late 
 dinner she saw Helena posting a letter, and as her eyes met 
 her mother's her face flushed guiltily, then paled. Mrs. 
 Cass knew without questioning vthat the letter was to Mr.
 
 Buel and in spite of Helena's promise she had broken her 
 word. 
 
 This discovery caused her actual anguish. Helena might 
 commit many deeds through impulsiveness and high spirits, 
 but that she would deliberately break her word was incom- 
 prehensible. It was part of her characteristic relationship 
 with Helena that she never asked for confidences. She 
 knew that no allusion on her part would bring an ad- 
 mission and she refrained from asking in the fear that her 
 daughter might lie. For she knew from the expression in 
 Helena's eyes whom she had written to, and the girl caught 
 in deception assumed an increasing diffidence to cover her 
 distress. 
 
 They left Madrid next morning wearing inconspicuous 
 clothes, their apparel limited to the contents of a dressing 
 bag, a handbag, a large portmanteau and a box containing 
 colours, drawing materials and accessories. According to 
 schedule they were due to reach the town of El Cerrito 
 around six o'clock that evening. El Cerrito, though small, 
 was the convergent point from which one set out to a series 
 of villages separated from railroad connection. As most 
 of these mountain fastnesses existed independently, and the 
 inhabitants lived and died within the shadow of their birth- 
 place, they had no need of sending or receiving anything by 
 rail. Telephone and telegraph were alike unknown to 
 them and the motor car was an invention of the devil still 
 unheard of. 
 
 The train, interminably delayed, dragged them across an 
 arid plain, through rocky gorges and over sluggish, yellow 
 streams. At the various stoppages water carriers ran along 
 the platforms crying: "Agua fresco,, agua fresca." Wine 
 was sold out of wine skins whereby the liquid tasted 
 strangely leathery. 
 
 In the mountain passes the darkness came suddenly, the 
 sky turning a faint mauve above them and a star appeared 
 through the evening flush. The landscape was lost in a 
 gloom without dimensions and lessened only by an occa-
 
 96 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 sional light. It was nine o'clock when the train drew into 
 the platform at El Cerrito. 
 
 Mrs. Cass and Helena had no need of asking questions 
 of the Guardia Civile, resplendent in tarnished uniform, 
 who affably lounged in a doorway smoking a cigarette. Her 
 acquaintance with the English women had supplied her with 
 sufficient data, even to the day and hour of departure of 
 the diligence for Fuente la Higuera. In a moment she 
 recognised the man from the detail of accoutrements which 
 had been described to her. 
 
 Some minutes later the cochero appeared, a big, dark- 
 faced man, wearing a black sombrero, his legs incased in 
 grass gaiters, carrying two bundles wrapped in bright-col- 
 oured cloth. Helena called out the single interrogation: 
 
 "Fuenta la Higuera?" 
 
 And he replied: 
 
 "Si, si, senorita." 
 
 Then he clambered up to his seat, and they entered the 
 diligence and were soon rattling down the narrow, roughly 
 paved street, and were out in the darkness of the country 
 road. They sat in silence for a time peering out into the 
 enveloping blackness, but at length as their effort to identify 
 in what direction they were going failed them, they ceased 
 tc pay attention. Mrs. Cass was not a timid woman. The 
 fact that they were proceeding miles from civilisation over 
 an ill-travelled road did not quicken apprehensions of dan- 
 ger. But her head ached, and she was fatigued after 
 hours of discomfort from heat and dust in an uncleanly 
 first-class carriage. 
 
 After they had continued many kilometres they sighted a 
 light ahead, and the driver drew up, climbed over the wheel 
 and leapt to the ground. He entered the low building, a 
 cantino in use as a sort of halfway house. It was dark but 
 for a light which came from a single window behind a 
 grating. From within they could hear the thrum of a 
 guitar and the sound of voices. Later a laugh rang out, 
 more voices, then a long silence. The mules drew their
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 97 
 
 heads together, then lowered them to crop at the dry blades 
 of grass in the roadway. 
 
 For a long time there was no sound from the barraca, 
 then its door was flung wide and the cochero returned. 
 From the light behind him they saw that his step was lurch- 
 ing and heavy. They realised he was quitting a wine-shop 
 and that this last gratification of thirst had reduced him 
 to senseless torpor. He climbed laboriously up to his 
 seat and gripped the lines. He called abuse to the animals 
 in words so vile that Helena failed to understand them, as 
 once more he drove the mules jingling their bells at a 
 brisk pace through the darkness.
 
 THE arrival of Mrs. Cass and her daughter at Fuenta la 
 Higuera that night was more in the nature of a deliverance 
 than anything else. The darkness that closed about them 
 seemed a palpable substance, dry, unyielding, that all en- 
 veloped. The air was scented with wild growth and the 
 pungent odour of country dust which the animals' tireless 
 feet provoked. During the long ascent the mules walked, 
 nor could the driver's opprobrium quicken their pace. 
 
 Reaching the crest of a hill, they saw the town before 
 them and at its entrance the sweating animals stopped in 
 their traces, from long habit. Miss Cass realised that their 
 arrival without incident was due to the sure-footed mules. 
 She alighted, carrying her luggage and handed the drunken 
 cochero several pesetas above their fare, thinking, in this 
 way, to obviate any possible argument. Then they proceeded 
 on foot up the narrow flagged street, paved with round 
 stones. The middle of each calle sloped toward a slight 
 depression, used as a means of carrying off rain and even 
 debris. The houses of Fuente la Higuera were all huddled 
 together at odd angles as though for protection, each ad- 
 hering to the next ; many were built Moorish fashion with- 
 out windows that gave toward the street. If the hill town 
 was not prosperous it at least escaped distress, for its 
 buildings were whitewashed and its doors and casements 
 provided with heavy locks and grills. In fact had Fuente la 
 Higuera been the home of the bandoleros it could not have 
 been more securely bolted and shuttered against intrusion, 
 instead of being as quiet a township as lies in the mountain 
 district of Spain. 
 
 The Englishwomen had humourously prepared Helena 
 a diagram of the fonda, and by the use of this they found 
 the place. And it had proved a wise precaution, since the 
 
 98
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 99 
 
 cochero had been in no condition to direct them, and no 
 one seemed abroad at that hour. Although midnight, they 
 saw through the open doorway of an ill-lit wine-shop a 
 group of men seated about a table playing cards, while 
 above them hung a mist of cigarette smoke. They turned 
 the corner, saw the sign of the fonda, and approaching it 
 Helena gave a resounding knock on the door. 
 
 At length they were rewarded by hearing footsteps within. 
 A thin line of light appeared above the worn door-sill and a 
 voice called out in Spanish : 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "A lodging for the night." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "Friends of the English ladies." 
 
 At that the door swung wide and they were bidden to 
 enter. A tall, spare, sinuous man, with rolling black eyes, 
 coffee-coloured face and the features of an Arab stood in 
 the doorway. He spoke a harsh Spanish unfamiliar to 
 Helena, but she understood him readily and concluded that 
 although an Andaluz he had travelled some and so spoke 
 Castifian as well as his native dialect. He wore a night- 
 shirt, a pair of hastily assumed trousers, held by a worn red 
 sash, and his small brown feet thrust into a pair of list 
 slippers. 
 
 After the ladies were within he shut and bolted the door, 
 set down his candle and lighted a cigarette. He was a 
 person of portentous dignity and with a fluent, graceful 
 gesture enquired if they had experienced a comfortable 
 journey. 
 
 Miss Cass explained that a delayed train had occasioned 
 their unseasonable arrival but hoped they would be accom- 
 modated. Her weeks in Madrid had proved sufficient to 
 indoctrinate her with the need of excessive courtesy in ad- 
 dressing all classes of Spaniards. 
 
 "This miserable house is honoured," the clerk remarked 
 with an inclination of his head. "I am happy to serve 
 you." 
 
 He now moved to the back of the room which served as
 
 ioo SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 an office. He opened the door to a cupboard, extracted an 
 ink pot, the ink of which had almost entirely coagulated, 
 and two slips of paper. These he removed from a visitors' 
 book in which they were later to be inserted. He thrust the 
 rusty nib of his pen into the ink and handed it to Miss Cass. 
 He pointed with the nail of his little finger, sallow and 
 conserved with care to a great length, indicating the paper 
 on which she was expected to sign her name. She was 
 amused at the absurdity of registering at this primitive 
 posada, but she lifted her veil and removed her gloves for 
 the operation. She wrote : "Miss Helena Cass, New York," 
 then handed the pen to her mother, who wrote : "Mrs. J. de 
 W. Cass, New York." 
 
 After a careful scrutiny of their names he remarked 
 they were "English from New York" and Helena did not 
 correct him, knowing that in the mind of the average Span- 
 iard an "American" means a South American. In many 
 of the smaller towns she knew the existence of America 
 was unknown, the more ignorant of the peasants believing 
 there was no country other than Spain. He now cast sand 
 upon their signatures, then placed them between paper 
 hinges and returned the book to the cupboard. 
 
 "My mother and I have not dined," Helena remarked. 
 "We would like some supper anything in fact that you 
 have ready. Some bread and cheese would be enough and 
 a little wine." 
 
 "This poor house contains but little," the clerk replied, 
 "but what it has shall be laid before you." 
 
 With that he left them and made his way to the rear of 
 the fonda with instructions for their supper. Exhausted, 
 Mrs. Cass seated herself upon a rush-bottomed chair vis-a- 
 vis to Helena with a table between them. 
 
 "You're very tired, mumsy, aren't you? But you're not 
 sorry we came. The town is picturesque. And I think 
 we're going to be reasonably comfortable, don't you?" 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 At that moment she noticed the ring on her daughter's 
 hand.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CAS& [101 
 
 "Why will you wear jewellery when travelling?" she en- 
 quired. 
 
 Helena saw that her mother was tired, and knew that a 
 number of untoward experiences that evening had each 
 added elements contributory to her present feeling. She 
 turned the stone on the inside and sat with her hands 
 clasped in her lap. A few minutes later the clerk entered 
 bearing their supper on a tray, a handful of steel knives 
 and forks, and a coloured tablecloth held between his teeth. 
 With an adroit whisk of the cloth it was on the table and 
 savoury breaths rose from the hot fried tortillas of eggs, 
 meat and potatoes, red wine from a skin, brown bread, 
 delicious figs and thick coffee faintly spiced. 
 
 Their supper despatched, Mrs. Cass felt in better spirits 
 and realised her fatigue and distaste in her surroundings 
 had been largely occasioned by hunger. Helena found the 
 wine bitter and scarcely touched it, the stem of the grape 
 being used as well as the fruit in the brewing; but Mrs. 
 Cass in the hope of coaxing sleep drained her half glass. 
 Then the clerk took up the candle and led them above 
 stairs. In exploring the upper story he halted before a 
 row of doors in the passage on which numerals were 
 crudely painted. He unlocked one marked "number five/' 
 opened it and thrust his candle in for their investigation. 
 
 The cubicle was furnished with a tester bed with cur- 
 tains. Before the single window was a table covered with 
 bright cotton to resemble a ladies' dressing-table with a 
 
 mirror above it. beside which the room contained two 
 
 i 
 
 rush-bottomed chairs and a smaller table bearing a copper 
 jug and earthen basin for supplying the bath. The walls 
 bore faded yellow paper of bouquets of fuchsia tied with 
 ribbons and enlivened with flying and perching birds. Two 
 pictures hung on either side of the bed, one of the King 
 of Spain in his coronation robes and one of a banderillcro 
 seated silently watching a bull. The floor was of terra cotta 
 tjjes, and a small grass mat was placed at the bedside. 
 i "This room is too small. I want one large enough for
 
 .102 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 my mother and myself." Helena objected. "Where is the 
 one the English ladies occupied?" 
 
 The clerk clapped one hand to his forehead in an extrava- 
 gant gesture, indicating profound regret, while he rolled 
 his black, expressive eyes in facile ingratiation. 
 
 "I have a thousand regrets but that room is occupied. I 
 have but one other room in the posada which is free." 
 
 They followed him as he continued along the passage 
 bearing the candle past the bend, down two steps and threw 
 open the door of "number eleven." This he was at pains 
 to tell them was a "new" room, and, to believe him, none 
 more comfortable for a lady in all Fuente la Higuera was 
 to be found, he said, tapping his full chest in ratification. 
 
 Mrs. Cass opened the casement and looked out into the 
 street. The wine-shop abutted the fonda, from whence they 
 heard angry voices, followed by what seemed a fracas, 
 btit the clerk reassured them that the card game was always 
 friendly. She realised that what she mistook for anger 
 was the high-pitched voices of a Latin people speaking a 
 foreign tongue interspersed with the strange gutturals of 
 the dialect. 
 
 She glanced about her, saw there was a general cleanli- 
 ness, felt of the bed, found the mattress was filled with 
 straw and agreed hastily to occupy the room. The clerk 
 vanished and reappeared shortly with their luggage; this 
 was divided between them, each supplied with a candle and 
 then Miss Cass and her mother kissed and parted for the 
 night. 
 
 Mrs. Cass performed the necessary tasks before retiring, 
 undressed and let down her hair before she realised that 
 Helena's bag held most of her things. Covering herself 
 with a dressing gown, she unlocked her door, made her 
 way to "number five" and tapping, called: 
 
 "Helena, it is I." 
 
 Miss Cass opened the door and they both broke into 
 laughter. 
 
 "Of course it's a hole, but it is adorably quaint. And I
 
 103 
 
 think we are going to be very much amused, don't you?" 
 Helena asked. 
 
 "I can tell you better in the morning," was her mother's 
 only answer, as she selected her own articles which in pre- 
 cipitate packing had been jumbled. 
 
 Then they kissed once more and she returned to her own 
 room, blew out her candle and got into bed. Twice when 
 nearly asleep she was startled into sudden wakefulness by 
 hearing someone passing in the street thrumming a guitar, 
 followed by an uproar of barking dogs. Then sleep claimed 
 her and when she awoke again the sun was streaming in 
 her window. 
 
 She consulted her watch and found it was ten o'clock. 
 She had slept so soundly that voices from the wine-shop 
 below had in no way interfered. She rose, dressed and 
 carrying her handbag proceeded down the passage to 
 "number five." She knocked on Helena's door, but receiv- 
 ing no answer, was about to turn away, fancying she had 
 breakfasted and begun an excursion of the town. Then 
 stooping, she saw that the key was still in the lock on the 
 inside of the door. She knocked again. Helena had evi- 
 dently overslept herself, too. There was no answer. Hit- 
 ting the door with her fist, she called sharply : 
 
 "Helena, Helena ..." 
 
 There was a sound within of bare feet on the floor. The 
 door was unlocked and wrenched open, and a strange man, 
 dark of face, clad only in a pair of drawers and soiled shirt, 
 which bared his chest, stood before her.
 
 XI 
 
 HER first overmastering sensation was bewilderment. 
 Who was this stranger ? What was he doing in her daugh- 
 ter's room? Why was the door locked on the inside since 
 Helena obviously was not there? 
 
 She and this half -clad man continued to exchange hostile 
 glances. It was he who spoke first and, without understand- 
 ing him, she judged he asked derisively in his own tongue: 
 
 "In what way can I be of service to you, sefiora?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass realised her half-dozen phrases were unequz*/ 
 to the occasion and so replied bluntly in English: 
 
 "I'm so sorry. I made a mistake in the room. Please 
 excuse it." 
 
 He bowed slightly, permitting himself a highly-wrought 
 smile. But she did not notice the even row of white ex- 
 posed teeth. Her eyes at that moment had observed a nick 
 in his forehead, a slight scar above an eyebrow as from a 
 knife thrust. It had left a white indenture in his bronzed 
 face, lifting one eyebrow that gave his expression a sin- 
 ister quality. 
 
 This experience was just one more misadventure follow- 
 ing last night's perilous drive, which decided her she could 
 not leave Fuente la Higuera with too much dispatch for 
 her own satisfaction. She was wondering how she had 
 been so stupid as to make a mistake in the room when he 
 closed the door. As he did so she noticed the crude "num- 
 ber five" painted on it. Then she had not been at error! 
 That was Helena's room after all, and already the door 
 was closed against her. At that moment she heard the key 
 turn in the lock. 
 
 Mrs. Cass was seized by a condition of panic. She re- 
 mained irresolute in the passage, feeling a growing irrita- 
 tion against the benumbing fear which choked the working 
 
 104
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 1051 
 
 of her brain. She attempted to reassure herself that she 
 had forgotten the number of Helena's room, but in this she 
 was unsuccessful. She recalled it beyond chance of mis- 
 take. 
 
 Helena, she concluded, had risen early and gone out to 
 sketch. And as the posada was full, this man had taken this 
 opportunity to let himself into her room and steal a few 
 hours' sleep during her absence. His eyes had shown that 
 her knocking had wakened him, and he had blinked at her 
 when he opened the door. She would explain at once to 
 the proprietor and insist upon the man's removal. They 
 were paying for the usage of their rooms both by day and 
 by night. 
 
 With this intention Mrs. Cass descended the stairs and 
 entered the room which served as office for the fonda. It 
 was here that their supper had been served on the night 
 before, but this morning it was deserted. As the fonda 
 was not supplied with bells there was no means of sum- 
 moning attendance, j^fter a moment of restless pacing she 
 opened the door which admitted to the sala, but this was 
 dark and showed no sign of being used. There was a door 
 at the rear of the room and she made her way to it, opening 
 it cautiously. It connected with a kitchen, an ill-lit, smoke- 
 filled room, provided with an open fireplace, where food was 
 being cooked on a spit over a handful of coals. 
 
 In the centre of the room stood a strong, tough-fibred 
 woman, the front of her dress covered by a soiled drugget 
 she had tied about herself. She was crooning a dirge with- 
 out change of tone and seemingly without end while en- 
 gaged in removing the entrails from a chicken. One firm 
 hand gripped the fowl, the other was plunged within it, 
 blood staining her drugget and covering the table before 
 her. 
 
 Suddenly her dirge ceased and feeling herself under ob- 
 servation she raised startled eyes. For a moment the two 
 women continued to inspect each other, silent, motionless, 
 across the dark kitchen. Strings of onions and garlic and 
 bunches of herbs depended from the ceiling, and in the
 
 io6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 warm air their essence was diffused, making the kitchen 
 redolent of seasoning. The woman who seemed no longer 
 interested in Mrs. Cass now removed a handful of blood- 
 covered entrails and continued at her work. 
 
 "Where is the posadero?" 
 
 The woman shook her head as not understanding. 
 
 "Don't you understand any English?" 
 
 The woman hesitated, then shook her head once again. 
 Her movements seemed disconnected from any mental 
 workings, like those of an automaton. 
 
 At first Mrs. Cass felt that the woman was persistent in 
 her failure to understand, until she attempted to ask her 
 in Spanish where the night clerk was. The woman, thus 
 lured to speech, replied glibly, mumbling her native dialect. 
 She was evidently a Gallegan and neither spoke nor under- 
 stood any Spanish, only the idiom of the locality. 
 
 Mrs. Cass then enacted a pantomime to ask if the seno- 
 rita who arrived last night had breakfasted. But the woman 
 continued her meaningless oscillations and Mrs. Cass, real- 
 ising her efforts to arrive at any understanding were futile, 
 left the kitchen to return to the office. 
 
 She knew her daughter's enthusiasms were mercurial. 
 Helena had undoubtedly made an early start with her 
 sketching materials, thinking to do some work before the 
 morning grew too warm. With this thought in mind, she 
 opened the door and ventured into the street. 
 
 She looked up and down the narrow sun-lit calle, with 
 its strip of shade under the overhanging eaves. Asses were 
 being driven by to market, women riding on them seated 
 sideways. And about her was the mild commotion of a 
 small town awake to the duties of the day. Reaching the 
 end of the street, Mrs. Cass continued to the market-place 
 where burros stood with half-filled panniers and housewives 
 bargained. She passed small shops; a cantino where empty 
 casks in use as stools were tilted against the wall and herds- 
 men and arr'ieros lounged in the doorway. They were pic- 
 turesque looking men, their heads bound with coloured 
 handkerchiefs, pirate fashion, their faces weather burnt,
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 107 
 
 their eyes flashing. They laughed uproariously and then 
 ceased of a sudden as she passed them, recognising a for- 
 eigner who was still subject to unusual attention. There 
 was something in the directness of their glance and minute- 
 ness of their scrutiny which chilled her. 
 
 In front of the church she hesitated and then decided to 
 continue her search within. A blear-eyed old crone who 
 sat on the doorstep knitting pulled aside the heavy leather 
 curtain, and Mrs. Cass entered a vault-like building. The 
 church was overlarge for the size of the community and 
 all its wealth seemed to be centred there. The effigy of the 
 virgin on the altar was robed in velvet with hoop skirts 
 and slashed bodice, a nimbus behind her head, pearls on 
 her bosom and preposterous jewels on her hands. The 
 Holy Child wore a loin-cloth of rare Spanish lace, and a 
 petticoat of the same was artfully seen from under the 
 virgin's dress. Ruby lights burned at the altar, but in spite 
 of the warmth outside the church was cold, musty and un- 
 tenanted, and after a brief glance Mrs. Cass emerged and 
 made her way back to the fonda. 
 
 The office was still unoccupied and there was no evidence 
 of Helena having been there. Mrs. Cass had never felt 
 more helpless or dependent upon her quick-witted daughter 
 than at that moment. She proceeded once more to the 
 kitchen and opened the door. The woman was still at work 
 but this time Mrs. Cass decided to forego all preambles. 
 (The only way to disabuse herself of mounting fears was 
 to investigate room "number five," and since the clerk and 
 proprietor were not there this ignorant woman would serve 
 as well as anyone else. She beckoned to her, but the 
 woman remained inert, watching her with a stupidity which 
 seemed too well conceived to be anything but pretense.) 
 Mrs. Cass then crossed the kitchen, and taking hold of the 
 woman's arm firmly led her back to the office and upstairs, 
 not halting until she reached the upper hall. Here indi- 
 cating the door on which "number five" had been painted 
 she made a pretense of knocking. 
 
 The woman hesitated only a moment and then rapped
 
 io8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 heavily on the door. She received no immediate reply and 
 after a brief wait repeated it. They remained expectant, 
 waiting. . . . Then growing impatient the woman struck 
 the door with all the strength of her knuckles. This time 
 she succeeded in being heard. The impact of bare feet on 
 the floor, a moment's pause, then a careful hand on the 
 lock and the key was turned. The door opened and Mrs. 
 Cass faced the same man. He was still attired as before. 
 His dark, malevolent eyes beneath his scarred brow watched 
 her, resenting her second intrusion. 
 
 Without knowing why she felt suddenly afraid. Of 
 course it was not possible that Helena was in the room. 
 And yet she wished to make certain. Not relaxing her 
 hold on the woman beside her she pushed past the stranger 
 until they were inside his door. 
 
 At this he mumbled several words which dropped out the 
 corner of his mouth as though by themselves. The kitchen 
 maid replied in his own tongue and after that they remained 
 silent, nor did Mrs. Cass speak. She was at once so 
 amazed and completely bewildered by the room she had 
 entered that there were no words to clothe her excitement. 
 
 In spite of the reassuring number on the door, this was 
 not Helena's room. She remembered every detail of the 
 night before when she had been seated on the edge of 
 Helena's bed, selecting articles from her daughter's bag. The 
 walls of this room were white like her own. In a corner 
 was placed a pallet bed, above which a silver Christ was 
 nailed to an ebony cross on the wall. This was decorated 
 with a bit of dried palm and olive. In front of the window 
 was an old upholstered chair, now disgorging some of its 
 stuffing, and across a corner a wardrobe, the door of which 
 hung listlessly open, showing it filled with a miscellany of 
 man's apparel. A single picture was on the wall and a 
 closer scrutiny disclosed it as a crudely proportioned oleo- 
 graph of "Suzanne at Her Bath." About the room was 
 scattered a disorderly litter proving a protracted tenancy, 
 and behind the door an ornate mule's bridle hung upon a 
 Peg.
 
 SHE WHO .WAS HELENA CASS 109 
 
 Asking his pardon as best she could, Mrs. Cass with- 
 drew. And yet the moment the door was closed she felt 
 she wished to give it closer inspection. She gave up all 
 thought of talking to the static kitchen maid beside her. 
 There was nothing gained by addressing questions to com- 
 plete inanition. 
 
 She indicated the door of room number four and in- 
 structed that the woman knock. She opened the door and 
 Mrs. Cass upon entering saw that it was unoccupied. But 
 this again in no way resembled the room which the night 
 clerk had shown them. Thinking she might have been con- 
 fused as to its position, since it could not have been "number 
 five," Mrs. Cass insisted that every door be opened. She 
 continued her inspection until she had seen each room on 
 the second floor. But none had yellow walls figured with 
 birds and fuchsias. Nor did any room contain a tester bed 
 with curtains, or any of the furniture which she remem- 
 bered. 
 
 And yet it was absurd to imagine that the room had not 
 existed precisely as she recalled it. She remembered 
 even the pictures of the King of Spain in his coronation 
 robes and a torero seated intrepidly facing a bull, a bande- 
 rillo in each hand ; the dressing table which held a red pox- 
 marked cushion ; rush-bottomed chairs ; curtains at the win- 
 dow. And above all the colour of the pompous fuchsias 
 on the wall, the blue ribbons that tied them, and the green 
 love-birds that hovered above. 
 
 What had first been a feeling of uneasiness now became 
 a matter of terror. Where was Helena? Although she 
 knew in her heart her daughter was not in the house she 
 could not allow herself to think so until a systematic search 
 had been made. The clerk had said at the time of their 
 arrival that the posada was full. But investigation proved 
 that the only rooms which were occupied were her own 
 and that of the stranger with the scar on his brow. The 
 fact of having trapped the clerk in that falsehood only 
 increased her apprehensions. 
 
 But her search had not lain bare a single evidence of her
 
 no SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 daughter's occupancy. She told herself she might have 
 forgotten the room, seen only by candlelight, but Helena's 
 dressing bag was not discovered nor her brushes nor any 
 article of hers. The big drawing-box in which she had 
 packed so many more materials than she would ever use 
 was missing. Even though she had left expeditiously for a 
 morning's work she would not hamper herself with useless 
 impedimenta. But there was not a single reminder. Not 
 a veil, nor a handkerchief, nor a hairpin. 
 
 Mrs. Cass felt suddenly faint. All generation of thought 
 had become clogged by horror. They had arrived last night 
 without premonition of disaster, and all at once, without 
 warning, Helena had vanished. She tried to brace herself 
 against the shock that such fancies were the result of faint- 
 ness. She had not breakfasted. And then remembering the 
 long dreamless sleep of the night before, it occurred to her 
 the wine might have been drugged. After that the thought 
 of both food and drink alike became abhorrent. 
 
 Was it possible that this whitewalled room, with its cur- 
 tainless window, after dark was transformed and clothed 
 with yellow walls covered with bouquets of fuchsias tied 
 with ribbons and ornamented with flying and perching 
 birds? She knew the ignorant peasant believed in people 
 metamorphosed into animals and birds, and houses being 
 spirited away and returned. After all there was nothing in 
 the beliefs of the supernatural too incredible to satisfy the 
 mind of the Spanish countrymen with the superstitions of 
 the Moors as a background to present plausibility. Then 
 she wondered if she were losing her mind to allow her 
 thoughts to stray to such abstractions. She forced herself 
 to choke them off. She must recall the moment in hand, 
 and what lay before ner. 
 
 She was standing at the head of the stairs gripping the 
 hand rail. There was one more thing left to do and that 
 was a search of the lower floor. She had thought the room 
 was "number five," but it had been proved conclusively 
 that she was in error. She had thought the room had 
 been on the same floor as her own, but possibly this had
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS in 
 
 been a mistake too. Even while she encouraged this fiction 
 she led the kitchen maid down the stairs and began a thor- 
 ough search through the rooms adjoining the office. But 
 this search proved in no way enlightening until she came 
 to one door which the Spanish woman declined to open. 
 
 "Why can't you open this?" Mrs. Cass called out excit- 
 edly, speaking in English. 
 
 Her few words of Spanish had now deserted her utterly. 
 Under stress she spoke frequently even though she knew 
 she was unintelligible to the woman. The kitchen maid's 
 reply was a mere jangle of sound. It meant nothing to her. 
 As the woman refused to knock, Mrs. Cass hammered on 
 the door. Then discovering it was unlocked she tore it 
 open. 
 
 The room was occupied. There was a bed opposite the 
 door, and a man struggled up angrily, enraged by the inter- 
 ruption, and then seeing the intruder, his expression 
 changed. She recognised the man as the clerk of the night 
 before. She was conscious of a repellence as suave, urbane, 
 he inclined his head in recognition of her as though forcing 
 herself into his room were a most natural procedure. 
 
 "You speak English?" Mrs. Cass cried. 
 
 "A leetle." 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 "Pedro, senora." 
 
 "You admitted us when we arrived last night. My daugh- 
 ter and myself. You assigned room number five to my 
 daughter, didn't you?" 
 
 Don Pedro, as he was in the habit of being addressed, 
 opened his fine black eyes with dismay. 
 
 "Room number five," he said, now speaking in Spanish, 
 and in her excitement language seemed to matter little, for 
 Mrs. Cass understood him. "Oh, no, senora. That is im- 
 possible. Don Rodolfo has lived in that room for many 
 weeks. This gentleman has been my guest since the middle 
 of July. He has honoured my miserable house that long." 
 
 "Then what room did you assign to my daughter?"
 
 ii2 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Senora, I do not know this daughter of whom you 
 speak." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "What I say, honoured sefiora." 
 
 "Have you forgotten that you saw my daughter last night, 
 ordered supper for two, and afterwards carried her bags 
 upstairs with mine and gave us two separate rooms, be- 
 cause you said the fonda was crowded ?" 
 
 "A thousand regrets, but I do not recall it. When you 
 arrived here last night I admitted you, that I remember 
 well, but you came alone."
 
 XII 
 
 His words, uttered with that complete courtesy which 
 was his natural speech, chilled her. With perfect calm, his 
 eyes on hers, he told her he had never seen her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Cass rallied after a moment of speechlessness. 
 There was something in the facility and directness of the 
 man's lying which stunned her. His motives were impene- 
 trable, and there seemed now a terrible malignancy in his 
 ease of manner and pliancy of his smile. 
 
 "I would like to see you in the office a moment, Don 
 Pedro." 
 
 "It shall be as the senora wishes," he replied. 
 
 He rose and slipped incredibly small arched feet into his 
 slippers. She returned to the office and a moment later he 
 followed her, appearing in the adjusted costume of the 
 evening before, a nightshirt and a pair of trousers bound 
 by a faded red /a/a, a hastily rolled cigarette hung moist- 
 ened to his lower lip. 
 
 From the moment in which the man lied she found her- 
 self unable to think connectedly. That Don Pedro was a 
 rascal was not altogether a surprise. But that the man 
 should be a criminal as well was past belief. And yet he 
 declared without any of the embarrassment of dissimula- 
 tion that she had arrived alone. He had seen no daughter. 
 The statement was so amazing that she was unable to think 
 of any motive strong enough to supply impulse for his lie. 
 
 Mrs. Cass had only one proof of Helena's arrival last 
 night with which to convict him. And now that he had fol- 
 lowed her into the office she asked to see the visitors' book 
 in which they had both signed upon their arrival. She felt 
 craftily that she had snared him here. Keeping close to 
 his side so that he could not remove a page from the book 
 without her seeing him, she crossed to the desk. He went 
 
 "3
 
 ii 4 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 behind it, opened a cupboard, removed the book and handed 
 it to her. She turned to the last page. Inserted between 
 hinges of paper was the card which had been given her last 
 night. Beneath the date she read the superscription in 
 her own hand : 
 
 "Mrs. J. de W. Cass, New York." 
 
 That was all that the page contained. He had remem- 
 bered to destroy the card on which Helena had written 
 her own. 
 
 She turned excitedly to the kitchen maid. 
 
 "You remember very well that you prepared supper for 
 two last night, don't you ?" 
 
 The woman looked at her blankly. 
 
 "She not understand English," Don Pedro reminded her. 
 
 And then as Mrs. Cass's fear and despair seemed com- 
 plete, he turned to the woman and began to speak to her 
 earnestly in their native idiom. The woman listened in 
 what appeared amazement, showing the whites of her eyes 
 and shook her head several times in denial. Then Don 
 Pedro turned to his guest, resuming in English : 
 
 "I translate your question. She not see this lady and 
 she say supper was just for one. The senora is very tired. 
 If she would lie down she would be m-much, much better." 
 
 She felt the sudden helplessness of the ponderous Anglo- 
 Saxon mind before the strange, inscrutable workings of a 
 different race. This man seemed less Spaniard than Arab. 
 The cut of feature was that of Africa, the bold, appraising 
 eyes, the controlled yet passionate lips. His mouth was 
 like a pomegranate that had been cut in two, the lining 
 blood-red, the teeth perfect, even and strong as those of 
 some ferocious animal of the jungle. The man's habits 
 and customs were inscrutable to her, the processes of his 
 mind impossible for her to understand or circumvent. 
 
 His graceful, nerveless hand, which lay along the top of 
 the desk was as small as a woman's, a pale brown, perfectly 
 formed. The fingers were like tapers, and the nails well 
 cared for, and she noticed again that on the little finger 
 being grotesquely long. As she looked at his hands the
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 115 
 
 long, narrow nails seemed to her all at once the claws of a 
 carnivorous animal. She was conscious of a scent which 
 clung to him, potent, masculine, but not unpleasant. He was 
 watching her, his fine eyes glowing. He expelled smoke 
 through his nostrils, and then opened his lips as though 
 about to speak, showing the soft, red lining of his mouth. 
 She had tried in the last seconds to inoculate herself against, 
 fear of the man, but fear, like a poison, had spread through 
 her. 
 
 Suddenly, without a word of explanation, Mrs. Cass 
 turned, opened the door and vanished into the street. It 
 was impossible for her to continue to argue with him. The 
 woman being in his service was already bought and so was 
 of no use. Or, if not, she at least could not understand, 
 and the questions he translated were so distorted as not to 
 be of assistance to her. And the woman had not seen 
 Helena. She realised suddenly that they had arrived so 
 late the night before that she had seen no one in the 
 streets whereby she could substantiate her claim. 
 
 Leaving the fonda, she was moving without objective, her 
 one idea being to find a guardia civile and return with him 
 and place Don Pedro under arrest. But she had continued 
 some distance without sighting any member of the law. 
 Then it occurred to her that the alcalde of the barrio was 
 invested with greater power, and she would do better to 
 explain to him what had taken place. 
 
 She stopped men in the street to enquire where the alcalde 
 lived, and was almost in despair in not making her request 
 understood. At length she received directions which were 
 clear to her and made her way to his house. She knocked 
 vigorously on the door. There followed a moment of 
 maddening deliberation ; the door was opened by a middle- 
 aged man, with grey hair, whom she concluded was the 
 alcalde himself. 
 
 Her pent-up excitement broke in a torrent of incoher- 
 ence. English sprinkled with Spanish. The alcalde, see- 
 ing the stranger was labouring under great stress, led her 
 within amidst expostulation for calm and reason. The
 
 ii6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 room they entered was comfortless but she did not notice her 
 surroundings as he drew a chair out from the wall and 
 with a courtesy she now recognised as part of every Span- 
 iard, begged her to ue seated. He offered her a glass of 
 wine, and though faint, she refused it, remembering the 
 fiery aguardiente she had tasted on the night before and 
 its results. 
 
 Even after she had told him her story as best she could he 
 continued to look at her in doubt. She explained that she 
 and her daughter had arrived the night before from El 
 Cerrito. The train had been delayed and they had reached 
 Fuente la Higuera at midnight, had gone to the posada, 
 had supper and been shown to two small rooms, and then 
 parted for the night. In the morning she had been unable 
 to find her daughter and upon enquiring of the clerk, he 
 said that no one had arrived with her. This was amazing 
 enough, but the alcalde wished to know if Helena had not 
 left a note in her room before leaving, since it was patent 
 to him that she had run away. Here Mrs. Cass had to 
 confess the most irrational point of her story. She had 
 not only been unable to find her daughter that morning, but 
 no more could she discover her daughter's room. It had 
 vanished during the night. And at present there was no 
 room at the posada which bore any resemblance to it. 
 
 At this the man shook his head and eyed his visitor with 
 a sort of kindly compassion. Mrs. Cass, beginning to de- 
 spair of making him believe her, now broke into tears. Her 
 very evident distress moved him and he called, "Filar, 
 Pilar," to a serving woman who lurked in the darkened 
 passage. A middle-aged woman entered, supplying the 
 alcalde with his hat and stick, and he set out to accompany 
 her back to her lodging. 
 
 Fortunately she possessed an accurate sense of direction 
 and remembered in spite of the similarity of the narrow 
 streets the way she had come. Reaching the fonda she 
 found the door closed and anticipated that Don Pedro had 
 bolted it against her. She knew instinctively he had gone 
 at once to her room, destroyed what possessions she had
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 117 
 
 left and would further repudiate all knowledge of her. 
 She was, therefore, surprised when the door yielded easily 
 to her hand. The office was deserted but the kitchen-maid 
 was at work and went in search of Don Pedro, who had 
 gone to the wine-shop around the corner. 
 
 When the woman returned with him a moment later, his 
 equipment for the day was the same as when Mrs. Cass 
 had last seen him except that he had supplemented a coat 
 to cover his nightshirt. He was in no way surprised by 
 the advent of the Alcalde and greeted him as a friend in 
 his most casual manner. Don Pedro, it seemed, was not 
 the night clerk of the Posada as Mrs. Cass had supposed, 
 but the owner, and Maria de la Concepcione was not the 
 kitchen-maid but his wife, who acted as cook and took care 
 of their guests. Don Pedro had travelled quite extensively 
 in Spain and engaged in other trades before taking the 
 fonda, but Maria de la Concepcion was a mountaineer's 
 daughter and had never been but a few miles from Fuente 
 la Higuera. 
 
 "The senora did not believe my word. She want another 
 prove I no liar," he said with his deferential smile, which 
 now seemed to have lost some of its application. 
 
 And Mrs. Cass, feeling there was nothing disputable in 
 the assertion, agreed. The alcalde explained that he had 
 not been able to understand the Senora Inglesa and asked 
 for Don Pedro's version of what had transpired. This he 
 told with his habitual flow of words and ease of narration. 
 The lady had arrived last night, partaken of supper and 
 gone to her room. 
 
 "Just a moment," the alcalde interrupted. "The lady you 
 say was travelling alone ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why should a lady come to this town, three hours dis- 
 tance from El Cdrrito, alone? Has she friends here?" 
 
 "None." 
 
 "Then what brought her here ?" 
 
 "The reason for that, my friend, I will explain later. 
 The lady is undoubtedly eccentric. This morning she comes
 
 n8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 downstairs and asks my Maria for her daughter. My good 
 wife and I are naturally amazed. There is no daughter. 
 The lady came alone." 
 
 "I shall not be satisfied, Don Pedro, until I have gone 
 over your house." 
 
 "Willingly, my friend. That was what I should suggest." 
 
 The alcalde then enquired of Mrs. Cass if she remem- 
 bered the number of her daughter's room, and she said, 
 without hesitating, that she believed it was number five. 
 At this Don Pedro took a ring of pass keys from the cup- 
 board behind the desk, they mounted above stairs, Don 
 Pedro turned the key in the lock and instructed them to 
 enter the room in question. 
 
 Don Rodolfo, interrupted in his midday sleep, sat up in 
 bed, flung back a thatch of thick, black hair which fell over 
 his eyes, and looked at the group that stood before his 
 bed. He seemed insensitive to the publicity of their pro- 
 ceedings and only annoyed at being awakened. 
 
 The alcalde enquired if Don Rodolfo had occupied his 
 bed that night. He was answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "How long have you lived in this house?" 
 
 "Since the middle of July." 
 
 "And you have been in possession of this room all of 
 that time?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 He then turned to Mrs. Cass, asking if she recognised this 
 room as her daughter's. 
 
 She had, during their conversation, examined it minutely 
 and realised it resembled Helena's only in the fact that the 
 floor was tiled, like all others, and that it possessed but 
 one window. She attempted to describe the colour of the 
 walls, the bouquets of fuchsia and the birds ornamenting it. 
 Don Pedro reaffirmed that he never had any such room, 
 had never seen such paper, and unlocked other doors to 
 support his denial. There were pink walls, and grey walls 
 bespattered with pink roses, and whitewashed walls, but 
 none that bore out her description. At length he unlocked 
 and opened the door to Mrs. Cass's own room and she saw
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 119 
 
 her bag and her few possessions exactly where she had left 
 them. 
 
 There remained little use in continuing the search. Don 
 Pedro's story was direct and seemed without duplicity. 
 Don Rodolfo was known to have remained at the posada 
 some time and it seemed not unlikely that the room was his, 
 as he claimed. Mrs. Cass's explanation that her daughter 
 was an artist and had journeyed thither to sketch appeared 
 doubtful since there was no evidence of materials. And 
 Fuente la Higuera was indeed a curious place for ladies to 
 travel by themselves. 
 
 As Don Pedro had been successful in obstructing all 
 investigations, their efforts led to nothing. Mrs. Cass re- 
 quested that the alcalde accompany her to shops while she 
 purchased a few necessities. This he courteously agreed 
 to do when he learned that she was afraid to eat anything 
 prepared by Maria de la Concepcione. Her story that Don 
 Pedro had been struck by Helena's beauty and the exotic 
 appeal of a foreign type now assumed less colour, since it 
 was discovered that he possessed a wife. 
 
 She bought brown bread, goat's milk, figs and Murviedo 
 cheese and seated herself upon the church steps to eat her 
 meal. Her head was racked with pain from hunger and 
 exhaustion and her nerves clamourous. She knew that in 
 spite of Don Pedro's proof, satisfactory as it was and all 
 encompassing, that the kindly man at her side was in reality 
 a friend. She knew that he believed, in spite of distortion, 
 that her story held a seed of truth and they would yet ar- 
 rive at the facts, no matter how cleverly they were overlaid 
 with falsehood. He continued to ask her questions in Span- 
 ish which harassed her without being able to reply. Ex- 
 haustion had dulled her faculties, so that she was no longer 
 capable of making shrewd guesses as to what was meant. 
 
 For some time they shared the church steps in silence. 
 She had finished her luncheon and yet was too tired to 
 recommence her search. But her anxiety increased every 
 moment. She was caught in a net of non-comprehension 
 from which it seemed impossible for her to extricate her-
 
 120 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 self. The fact that two women of means should arrive at 
 Fuente la Higuera without other purpose than to allow 
 Helena to sketch was incomprehensible to her guide. To 
 him women of the upper classes were without liberty, and 
 when they travelled it was under the care of a man's escort 
 and for a more definite aim. 
 
 Mrs. Cass had despaired of making herself clear to the 
 alcalde when a fresh means of disentanglement occurred 
 to her. For the first time she remembered the cocker o in 
 whose diligence they had been so recklessly driven on the 
 night before. The man was probably in the town. It was 
 imperative that they find him. He could not fail to recall 
 Helena and he would remember that she had paid him 
 several pesetas beyon<3 his charge. His word would be 
 sufficient to give the lie to all of Don Pedro's denials. And 
 with him on her side it would be a simple matter to engage 
 the service of the guardia civile, who would soon arrive at 
 the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Cass had been in despair. Suddenly she felt buoy- 
 ant with hope. All that was necessary was for her to have 
 her story believed. Then with the slightest evidence of the 
 truth Don Pedro could be terrorised. Under penalty of 
 commitment he would be forced to admit his crime. 
 
 Before she allowed herself to think further she rose im- 
 patiently from the church steps. She explained her plan 
 to the alcalde as best she could. At first he was expostula- 
 tory and full of questions which she did not understand. 
 But at length, as her intentions became more lucid, the 
 kindly man agreed with enthusiasm. He knew the ventct 
 where the cochero could be found at that hour. He would 
 lead the senora to him at once and they would arrive at 
 conclusions shortly. 
 
 They set out toward the outskirts of the town where they 
 drew up before a stone built hut. The alcalde went within, 
 returning with the cochero who had driven them on the 
 night before. He seemed sleepy and came out blinking 
 from the darkened, windowless interior, the room lighted 
 only by the open door; the floor was made of beaten clay.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 121 
 
 In the brilliant sunlight he looked as though he had been 
 interrupted at his siesta. But Mrs. Cass saw that the man 
 was sober and her spirits rose. 
 
 "Angel," the alcalde said, "you drove this senora last 
 night from El Cerrito. You recall that ?" 
 
 "Si, senor." 
 
 "The senora generously gave you several pesetas above 
 her fare?" 
 
 The man looked at Mrs. Cass with increased interest. 
 
 "Now what I want to know is, did you have any other 
 passenger in the diligence, or did the senora make the trip 
 alone?" 
 
 "She came alone," he said abruptly. 
 
 "One minute, Angel. Are you certain? Was she not 
 accompanied by a beautiful senorita? Inglesa? A young 
 lady with brown hair, and fair skin, wearing a blue dress 
 and hat, a veil, gloves, and carrying, this lady says, a 
 walking stick?" 
 
 The cochero looked at them stupidly and made no an- 
 swer. 
 
 "Come, my man. You know if this lady was a passenger. 
 Why don't you speak ?" 
 
 The man hesitated and then remarked: 
 
 " You see, amigo, it was like this. I had tasted wine at 
 El Cerrito and at the halfway house where I often change 
 mules. In short, I was very drunk. I remember there was 
 a lady who paid me well. What she looked like that I have 
 forgotten. I remember only one. If it is this lady or 
 another I cannot say." 
 
 Mrs. Cass knew by the man's expression that she had 
 failed. The inebriate muleteer spoke the truth, but he was 
 of no use to them. Nor could any efforts to prompt a fail- 
 ing memory prove of any assistance. To all the alcalde's 
 questions he made the same reply. He did not remember. 
 
 They left him and he threw himself down in the narrow 
 strip of shade before the building. They returned to the 
 fonda, Mrs. Cass disconsolate, her guide deeply puzzled. 
 They were greeted by Don Pedro, who inquired of the
 
 122 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Spaniard if they had seen anyone who remembered having 
 had a glimpse of the daughter that the senora lamented. 
 To this question the alcalde shook his head. 
 
 "No. We have seen the cochero but he does not recall 
 the young lady." 
 
 Don Pedro made a strange grimace; speaking rapidly in 
 Spanish, he said: 
 
 "Is it not as I assured you? Vaya! The senora is not 
 only eccentric, she is worse." 
 
 He tapped his head, giving a significant gesture as he 
 looked at Mrs. Cass. And the older man shook his head 
 in pained accent. 
 
 "The lady is not right. She may have had some grief. 
 Who knows? At all events there is no daughter, you may 
 rest assured to that. I doubt if there ever was one. On 
 
 many subjects the lady is sane, but on that one she is " 
 
 And he tapped his head once more and lowered one lid 
 over his eye. "You believe me?" 
 
 And the alcalde nodded gravely. He had just arrived at 
 the same conclusion. 
 
 Mrs. Cass, who had remained standing in the doorway, 
 had not been party to this colloquy. But she knew without 
 words that she had lost an ally in the alcalde. The mule- 
 teer's failure to recall her daughter had convinced him 
 that she, like her luggage and her vanished room, were all 
 a part of some partial delirium. And without his assistance 
 she knew she was powerless to find Helena. No one in the 
 town would believe in her existence. 
 
 Having won the alcalde to his own point of view, Don 
 Pedro had now offered that worthy a glass of aguardiente 
 and they removed to the neighbouring venta. As they 
 passed Mrs. Cass they saluted her, Don Pedro with a ges- 
 ture of what seemed exaggerated respect. She thought once 
 to intercept the alcalde and attempt to convince him of her 
 sincerity and then realised it was futile. He was already 
 lost to her cause. To him her anxiety was dementia and 
 would no longer be given an ear. She was desperate now. 
 Her hopes at the lowest rung. There remained but one
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 123 
 
 man who could render her assistance. All at once she had 
 thought of Mr. Tooker, the American Consul in Madrid, 
 who had instructed her to call upon him if he could be of 
 any service. 
 
 She sought out Angel, the cochero, once more, whom 
 she had found lying face downward on the paving stones 
 before the venta, where he had thrown himself, while flies 
 hovered and crossed in the air above him. As she made 
 her terms with him she removed silver from her bag to 
 conclude her bargain. He sat watching her as she talked, 
 a fly on his cheek encircling an inflamed eye, drawing closer 
 and closer to it, but the man apparently had not a nerve 
 and remained unconscious, allowing it almost to enter his 
 eye. At length she offered him a sum in excess of what 
 he would make were the diligence full and he consented to 
 harness his mules at once. 
 
 It was five o'clock when the diligence drew up at the 
 entrance of the town. Any uneasiness which she had ex- 
 perienced on the initial trip was now forgotten in stronger 
 anxieties which were all for Helena. The rocking of the 
 diligence over the rough road and the velocity with which 
 the whipped mules descended the inclines eased the feeling 
 of greater desperation within her. At best they were mov- 
 ing, and she had taken her first step which was to eventuate 
 in her daughter's freedom. 
 
 Mrs. Cass reached El Cerrito that evening at nightfall. 
 The diligence was not scheduled to repeat the trip for three 
 days. But she realised her only hope lay in communicating 
 with Mr. Tooker at once. Much as she dreaded leaving 
 Helena alone in Fuente la Higuera she knew she could be 
 of more service in summoning immediate assistance. Alone 
 she was unable to resort to any strategy which would bear 
 results, and El Cerrito was the nearest point from which 
 she could wire the American Consul. 
 
 At eight o'clock they were at El Cerrito. She was carry- 
 ing a small handbag and her money was sewed into her 
 bodice for greater precaution. She paid Angel and dis- 
 missed him in front of the hotel and then went within and
 
 124 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 engaged a room for the night without asking to see it. She 
 inquired at the office if there was a telegraph bureau near 
 at hand and set out to find it. 
 
 The entire drive from Fuente la Higuera had been spent 
 in the composition of a telegram which would be suffi- 
 ciently forceful to insure Mr. Tooker's immediate answer 
 to her summons. For each period of renewed courage had 
 followed a recoil of terror in which she realised her plight 
 if Mr. Tooker was unable to lend assistance. She knew 
 how many chances there were that he had official business 
 on hand which could not be set aside. And then he might be 
 out of town, or in ill health, or have forgotten, or merely 
 be bored by the prospect of an hysterical woman. After 
 all, no one had less claim upon his attention that had she. 
 
 Reaching the telegraph bureau she removed a slip of 
 paper from her bag on which she had written out her 
 message and copied it on a telegraph form. She wrote: 
 
 "Senor don Samuel Tooker, American Consulate, Calle 
 de Serrano, Madrid. My daughter has disappeared from 
 Fuente la Higuera and I know has been kidnapped. All 
 efforts to apprehend her have been unavailing. At the inn 
 they even claim that I came alone and have no daughter. 
 I am desperate with anxiety and helpless as I cannot make 
 myself understood. Please come to me at once. Every 
 hour increases her danger, as of course she is imprisoned. 
 Wire immediately what you are willing to do. In desperate 
 need. Fredericka Cass." 
 
 She read the wire over several times before committing 
 it to the operator. Had she made her case strong enough? 
 Could any words exemplify her straits with greater clear- 
 ness? She wondered. She consulted the exposed dial of 
 the clock across the plaza. It was now nearly two o'clock. 
 
 She rose, handed the strip of paper to the operator, paid 
 for it, then returned to the hotel and partook of dinner. 
 Food caused her distress, but she forced herself to eat, 
 knowing she would have need of all her strength on the 
 morrow. Dinner despatched, she quitted the hotel for a 
 stroll, realising that sleep was impossible and she could not
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 125 
 
 discipline herself to an evening alone in her room waiting 
 for time to pass. 
 
 She walked to the extremity of the town through narrow 
 streets without pavements, people pouring out of every 
 darkened doorway to greet the cooler air after the heat of 
 a long day under a sky of brass. A herd of goats were 
 driven from door to door, stopping patiently to be milked 
 in order to provide each baby with its daily apportionment. 
 The goats obeyed the reed-whistle of the herdsman, halting 
 always where a woman was waiting with an empty cup. As 
 the odors of the streets became less pleasant and Mrs. Cass 
 collided with ruffianly-looking people without occasion she 
 realised she was in the poorer part of the town and re- 
 turned to her hotel, ordered coffee sent to her room and 
 mounted the stairs. 
 
 She removed her hat and seated herself by the window. 
 When the coffee arrived she aroused herself to lighting a 
 lamp, and with the tray before her poured out a cup of 
 black fluid. Her nerves had deserted her utterly. There 
 was no drug strong enough to induce sleep that night and 
 each nerve cried out for the stimulant of coffee. They 
 were like living creatures in torture, begging for a caress- 
 ing hand to soothe them into quiescence. She rose and 
 threw herself dressed upon the bed and lay there looking 
 at the ceiling. The ceiling seemed grey except for a waver- 
 ing circle of light made by the lamp. 
 
 At nine o'clock the next morning she went below-stairs but 
 no wire had arrived for her from Madrid. From then on 
 she dreaded the passage of every quarter of an hour. She 
 was afraid to leave the hotel for fear that the wire might 
 come during her absence and there be some technicality 
 whereby it could not be signed for by another. At ten 
 o'clock she went to the bureau but no message had yet come 
 over the wire for her. She returned to the hotel and paced 
 her room, since she could not remain downstairs where her 
 anxiety would be under observation, it being one of the exac- 
 tions of the Anglo-Saxon mind that it be allowed to suffer 
 alone.
 
 126 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 At midday there came a tap on her door. She had so 
 many times fancied she heard someone climbing the stairs 
 to her room and been mistaken, that she did not answer 
 it at once. The tapping was repeated before she opened the 
 door. An old man stood in the passage and extended an 
 envelope toward her. As she saw that it was a telegram 
 she was seized by uncontrollable trembling. She grasped it 
 and sat down on the side of her bed, as her limbs no longer 
 had the strength to uphold her. 
 
 "Am leaving Madrid first train. Due at El Cerrito at 
 3 P.M." 
 
 For a moment she felt she had not read the telegram 
 correctly. Then as she realised he was really coming her 
 devitalised constitution seemed to re-absorb strength from 
 the bit of blue paper in her hands. She saw, all at once, 
 that the old man had not gone but was still in the passage. 
 She fumbled in her bag, found five pesetas and handed 
 them to him. The man looked at her as though he thought 
 she had taken leave of her senses. 
 
 "Ave Maria!" he cried, on noticing the amount. Then 
 afraid she made a mistake and would correct it, he mut- 
 tered hastily: 
 
 "Vaya tisted con Dios," and was gone. 
 
 Mrs. Cass uncrumpled the telegram and read it for a 
 fourth time.
 
 BOOK III 
 
 XIII 
 
 THE performance seemed interminable to Jay Sefton. 
 Now that the golden curtains came together after the last 
 recall of the second act of "Manon" he asked Mrs. Slater- 
 lee's indulgence and went without to smoke a cigarette. In 
 the foyer he was met by persistent friends who urged his 
 accompanying them to the club rooms of the Metropolitan 
 organisation but he resisted. It meant seeing more ac- 
 quaintances and listening to more banalities and he wished 
 to be alone. 
 
 Mr. Sefton went into the outer lobby and strode up and 
 down in the cold, smoking. It was an evening in late 
 November, the second week of the present opera season. 
 The opening performances had crowded the house with the 
 fashion of New York, the musical habitues and the 
 hordes who wished to be thought fashionable or musical or 
 both. It was one of those average audiences, Mr. Sefton 
 mused, whose ebullition always overflowed in kindly appre- 
 ciation while the artists were singing ; that snuffed out every 
 high note with ill-timed applause, and this evening de- 
 manded repeated recalls from the prima donna, presumably 
 because she was singing slightly off pitch. 
 
 He smiled in a cynical mood, recalling a more tasteful 
 performance of "Manon" heard at the Comique. Des 
 Grieux in the smaller house, had been perfectly embodied 
 by Clement, and the French spirit had been retained by not 
 having the roles sung by Italians. His criticism of the 
 occasion was all of a piece, the result of a captious humour. 
 Each day was resolving itself into a rapid routine which he 
 seemed to lack strength to lighten. 
 
 127
 
 Sef ton's change of quarters still remained unproductive. 
 In the two months since he had removed to East Both Street 
 he had seen Mr. Cass several times from his study win- 
 dows, Mrs. Cass occasionally, and Roscoe and Annis almost 
 daily, yet they had not perceptibly increased his store of 
 impressions. With Mrs. Slaterlee's information he had 
 been able to proceed further than most in the work of hypo- 
 thesis, but he did not doubt that the detectives had out- 
 stripped him. Was this after all to be the end of his quest, 
 he asked himself irritably. 
 
 He had waited for the first night of French opera with 
 anticipation, remembering Mrs. Slaterlee's expressed pref- 
 erence, and had written asking her to accompany him. 
 Their conversation had remained quasi-musical and literary 
 all evening and he had expressed himself without knowing 
 precisely what he had said, hoping in each phrase to men- 
 tion Miss Cass incidentally. Mrs. Slaterlee as a woman of 
 literary tastes had responded to his attentions through a 
 regard for "Unexposed." So if he were to shift the basis 
 of his civility to a means of learning more of Helena Cass 
 it might result in her displeasure. It was fear of this 
 which kept him from mentioning her name. 
 
 Realising that the evening was not likely to be fruitful 
 he threw down the end of his cigarette in a receptacle and 
 made his way back into the heated auditorium while a red 
 light glowed in the foyer as warning of the next act. It 
 was characteristic, he thought, as he walked down the aisle 
 to his stall in the darkened house, that all men should be 
 a little late to their seats so that their neighbours might share 
 a maximum of discomfort. 
 
 It was after eleven when, the opera over, he guided Mrs. 
 Slaterlee toward the 39th Street entrance, where a motor- 
 cab was expected to wait for them. As they approached 
 the entrance he saw two people before him who suddenly 
 galvanised his waning spirits into life. They were too close 
 to call Mrs. Slaterlee's attention to them except by touching 
 her arm. She looked for a moment to make positive their 
 identity before she exclaimed:
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 129 
 
 "Mrs. Cass, I don't know if you remember me." 
 
 The woman addressed focused her eyes upon the speaker 
 meditatively and then said without surprise or emphasis: 
 
 "You are Mrs. Slaterlee." 
 
 "How kind of you to remember. I have wanted to come 
 and see you while in town." 
 
 Sefton looked from Mrs. Cass in a black evening dress 
 and furs to her husband, who still wore a mourning band 
 encircling the sleeve of his Newmarket coat. To be sure 
 it seemed more an object of decoration than a symbol of 
 grief. But Mrs. Cass's face was drawn ; this was no doubt 
 that the lines were the result of worry and disappointment, 
 and after three years they were still in mourning, so why 
 should he suppose there was any use of continuing this 
 search ? 
 
 Once he was seated beside Mrs. Slaterlee in the cab, and 
 they were being driven through a thin veil of rain, he asked 
 when she intended to put her projected visit into effect. 
 And as she remained indefinite he urged the following day. 
 Couldn't she stretch a point and make it to-morrow and 
 couldn't he accompany her? . . . 
 
 Something in his manner told Mrs. Slaterlee this extraor- 
 dinary request came from the heart. With a partial under- 
 standing of the obsession by which he was ridden she 
 agreed. When he bade her good night at her door it was 
 understood he was to call for her at four next day. 
 
 Accordingly, prompt to the minute he presented himself, 
 and a quarter of an hour later they drew up in 8oth Street 
 and he rang the bell. He could not deny the existence of 
 an all embracing perturbation. He felt very youthful in 
 this excitement. A parlour-maid opened the door and Mrs. 
 Slaterlee inquired if she might see Mrs. Cass. The maid 
 for a moment seemed in doubt how to answer. He sus- 
 pected that visitors were unusual. But since she was ob- 
 viously not a beggar nor was he an insurance clerk and 
 they were calling at an orthodox hour, she led them across 
 the wide hall and they mounted shallow stairs in her wake 
 to the drawing-room floor. She opened long glass doors
 
 i 3 o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 and bade them enter while she disappeared with Mrs. 
 Slaterlee's card. 
 
 At first they conversed in low tones with the audible 
 suppression of persons who have arrived too early at a 
 funeral. But after a moment realising that Mr. Sefton's 
 mind was elsewhere she ceased to talk at all, allowing him 
 time to absorb the surroundings in which Miss Cass had so 
 often sat. 
 
 The drawing-room of No. 33 was not unlike what his 
 fancy had pictured. It was expensive, smug, uninteresting. 
 He seated himself on a saddlebag-chair before a wood-fire 
 that remained perpetually unlighted. The room was well 
 illuminated, inconspicuous in decoration with Georgian 
 furniture, preserved with slight inaccuracies. Consol and 
 occasional tables upheld empty vases amid a litter of silver 
 and enamel trifles. The house had been furnished once 
 and for all time, durably, inexorably and unimaginatively. 
 The green bronze of Canova's Venus de Medici had been 
 permitted to block the view from the drawing-room win- 
 dows for twenty years. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Cass entered. She was dressed in black, 
 which seemed to have eased itself from prohibitory mourn- 
 ing to something which might or might not be significant. 
 Its severity had not sought relief in jewels. There was a 
 uniformity in her manner of courteous reserve as she 
 greeted Mrs. Slaterlee and suffered Mr. Sefton to be pre- 
 sented to her. He knew in that moment there would be no 
 opportunity to mention her daughter. 
 
 Their chatting, labouriously manufactured at first, be- 
 came later more spontaneous. There was no doubting the 
 ladies' aplomb, but Sefton after a few comments experi- 
 enced a feeling of dealing with shadows. Mrs. Cass her- 
 self seemed unsubstantial, a reflection in a glass some- 
 thing one could not touch without shattering. Her expres- 
 sion became fixed. 
 
 She thanked Mrs. Slaterlee for her kindliness in calling. 
 That lady apologised for not coming before, and as though 
 that remark sounded a warning note, Mrs. Cass agreed she
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 131 
 
 must be kept very busy at Vassar. Here there was a pause 
 which she filled by observing that since her visitor was a 
 critic of literature and her friend a novelist they must have 
 much in common. From literature to opera was an easy 
 step and then began a mild discussion of the performance 
 of the night before. She questioned if the Metropolitan's 
 well-known aversion to French opera was their chief rea- 
 son for producing it negligibly. Did they think to kill the 
 enthusiasm of its followers by half-hearted performances? 
 While this point was debated tea appeared. 
 
 Later hearing someone ascending the stairs Mrs. Cass 
 listened to a familiar step, then called: 
 
 "Annis dear?" 
 
 "Yes, mamma." 
 
 "Come in, please, a moment." 
 
 Miss Annis Cass came between the open doors, leaning 
 against the lintel. Her unlikeness to her sister seemed her 
 nearest approach to a personality of her own. As she 
 stood before him Jay Sefton recognised the colourlessness 
 about her with which nature sometimes shields a shy per- 
 son, whereby one remains equally unconscious of their 
 presence or absence from a room. She accepted a chair 
 beside the tea-table, filling in the interstices between their 
 observations with an unvarying smile. 
 
 Sefton's attention returned to Mrs. Cass, to her firm lips 
 and keen eyes and hands that spoke mutely of strength and 
 aptitude. He had been conscious ever since she entered 
 the room that her indomitable eyes held a secret. It seemed 
 apparent, too, in the determined carriage of her shoulders, 
 the right held unconsciously a little higher than the left. 
 He felt assured that although Mr. Cass might be master of 
 everything that was inconsequent, Mrs. Cass triumphed 
 without his knowledge in all the essentials. From her was 
 to be found the answer to the riddle. Behind her dry calm 
 manner was the certainty whether Helena Cass was alive 
 or dead. In fact so strong was this conviction that upon it 
 alone, without other evidence, he planned his next step. 
 Later when leaving the house he had decided to book 
 passage to sail the following week.
 
 XIV 
 
 A HEAVY December sky, grey, forbidding, stretched taut 
 to the horizon. It was now noon, two hours before the 
 Sud Express was due in Madrid. Sefton, who was mak- 
 ing the trip for the first time, had remained by the window 
 of his luxo not a little dismayed to find since changing 
 trains at Irun, on crossing the frontier, that Spain had a 
 bleaker and less inviting aspect in winter than he had sup- 
 posed. His knowledge of its topography was for the most 
 part limited to the impressions of Gautier, de Musset and 
 Louys. 
 
 Without they proceeded across sterile land, wrinkled, 
 that looked like the skin of some mammoth creature, 
 scared, stillborn, centuries old. Nowhere was there any 
 sign of vegetation or cattle, nothing to arrest the eye or 
 break the distance. Wagon ruts ran by the side of the 
 tracks and then disappeared, seemingly without destination, 
 the ground frozen, hollows holding crusts of snow. Once 
 or twice they proceeded by low mud-coloured hamlets that 
 seemed so much a part of the plain that except for an occa- 
 sional wreath of smoke unmoved by the cold air they might 
 have passed unnoticed. 
 
 The train continued over the desolation of the sand- 
 swept cwn-pana, like the entrails of some intense volcanic 
 commotion. Here the earth had cracked and broken apart 
 in fissures resembling the haggard features of a corpse 
 recently exhumed to the outer air. Depressions filled with 
 rain-water were covered by a thin layer of ice that looked 
 as though a film had formed over dead eyes. 
 
 This immensity of devastation was girt by the snow-clad 
 Sierra Guadarama which bound them in and chilled the air. 
 At length he saw Madrid lying in the centre of the plateau 
 like a toy city that seemed gradually to be drawn toward
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 133 
 
 them as though attached to a string, whilst the painted 
 panorama beyond remained motionless. A few minutes 
 later they had reached the platform of the North Station 
 and he made his way through the vivacious throng to the 
 street. He sprang into a cab and was driven past the Royal 
 Palace by the Calle del Arenal, the Puerta del Sol and the 
 Calle de San Jeronimo to the Ritz. Here he registered and 
 was shown to a room overlooking the Prado and the foun- 
 tain of Neptune. The water was now inactive and the sea 
 horses were adorned with jewels of ice. 
 
 Without waiting to remove his overcoat he telephoned 
 directly to American Consul Samuel Tooker. During the 
 interminable delay his heart beat in his throat and a half 
 dozen likely excuses claimed his ear. The consul was dead ; 
 or had retired from Consular service ; or was so ill he could 
 not be disturbed by a stranger; or again unwilling to give 
 information to a person neither detective nor relative of 
 Miss Cass and so without claim to the facts. This latter 
 thought seemed the more likely to checkmate and he was 
 wondering how he could refute any such argument when a 
 soft Spanish voice asked wTio wished to speak to His Ex- 
 cellency. 
 
 "An American who has just arrived and is in need of 
 advice," he replied. 
 
 A moment later there came a series of vocatives ad- 
 dressed in English that sounded like a pin drawn across a 
 mirror. There was no doubting the national timbre of this 
 voice with the flatted a's and accentuated r's suggesting a 
 youth passed in Pennsylvania which twenty years' residence 
 in Spain had been powerless to correct. 
 
 Sefton explained as concisely as possible his mission. He 
 had come to Madrid for the purpose of obtaining replies 
 to certain questions which were of the utmost importance 
 and inquired the earliest hour that he could see the Consul. 
 After a pause, Mr. Tooker named that evening at ten. 
 
 It was now a few minutes before three. He had seven 
 hours to be got through with somehow. He had no inter- 
 est to see the sights of Madrid, but to remain in his room
 
 i 3 4 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 was manifestly impossible. Grabbing up his hat he rang 
 for the lift, and disregarding any such effeminacy as an 
 umbrella, he turned up his collar and made his way to the 
 Prado, where a cold dismal rain was falling. 
 
 He allowed himself to be carried along by the tfirong, 
 until some time later, finding himself in the Calle de Seville 
 passing the Gran Cafe Ingles, he retraced his steps and 
 entered. Most of the tables were occupied by enthusiasts 
 of the corrida. The last one, it appeared, was a poor 
 affair, since Sefton learned that no bull fight of any cir- 
 cumstance is scheduled in Madrid during the winter 
 months. A waiter recognising a foreigner discovered a 
 place for him next to a table where two well-known. 
 matadors were seated. He ordered black coffee and per- 
 mitted his attention to settle upon his neighbours. Clear- 
 eyed, olive skinned, their thick black hair shone smooth as 
 satin above low brows. Both were wearing the coleta 
 which he had never seen before. Diamonds flashed from 
 their muscular hands ; every line of their upright bodies 
 denoted strength and agility. What a strange craft which 
 took hold of the imagination even of the disbelievers. He 
 found his interest kindled by the admiration surrounding 
 them. An attentive waiter whispered their names with 
 pride; both great men from Andaluz. His nearer neigh- 
 bour abstemiously declined wine to sip a glass of aqua y 
 azucarsillo. The heat of the vast sola was intense and the 
 interest of the vociferous crowd culminative. 
 
 Later he yielded his place to another and once more 
 rejoined the drifting concourse. There seemed something 
 unstable and purposeless in this press of umbrellas. He 
 felt that the passersby were not really bent upon business 
 but intent, gesticulating, they were moving nowhere, much 
 like the throng of a cinema, who, vanishing off the edge 
 of a screen, turn about only to repass once more. These 
 people were a part of the general mise-en-scene of some 
 vast adroitly-managed stage. They were now giving a 
 daily evidence of vitality to streets and squares which were 
 only adeptly painted perspectives of canvas and scaffold
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 135 
 
 which could be rolled up and trundled away in half an 
 hour. 
 
 At six-thirty he returned to his hotel, tubbed, changed 
 and dined quite alone in the empty restaurant. He dis- 
 covered that no one dined in Madrid before nine, which 
 doubtless accounted for Mr. Tooker's naming a later hour 
 for their convocation. Dinner despatched, he bought a 
 four-page Spanish paper and, returning to his room, threw 
 himself upon a sofa and lay reading the local news. 
 
 At nine-thirty he started upon his errand, reaching the 
 Calle de Serrano a few minutes before the time set. He 
 was admitted by a man-servant, who led him to the Con- 
 sul's study. Sefton introduced himself to a grey-haired 
 man, who looked curiously foreign, and was waived to a 
 chair. He realised his name was unsuggestive to Mr. 
 Tooker, who apologised for not keeping abreast of Ameri- 
 can literature. 
 
 He offered his visitor cigarettes with execrations at the 
 quality of Spanish tobacco, and then withdrawing them 
 rang and instructed the servant to pass the gentleman the 
 Havana cigars. Mr. Sefton was surprised to hear his host 
 had not learnt to speak harmoniously the language of the 
 people against whom his anathemas were directed. Consul 
 Tooker after years in Spain still retained the belief that if 
 one had anything of consequence to be said it was best 
 spoken in English. 
 
 The next moment was given over to an exchange of 
 lights, following which Sefton said abruptly : 
 
 "I have come to see you in regard to Helena Cass." 
 
 "Oh, Lord." 
 
 Mr. Tooker's ejaculation gave curt expression to his 
 point of view. Had his visitor come looking for buried 
 treasure he could have been no more indisposed to believe 
 in the outcome. 
 
 "I thought that question ended long ago." 
 
 "Ended? in what way? It will never be ended to me 
 until I find her."
 
 i 3 6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 As Mr. Tooker's play of feature became more perplexed 
 Sefton at length amended : 
 
 "Or at least have positive proof she is dead. Mr. Tooker, 
 what do you think happened to her?" 
 
 The Consul raised his shoulders in the significant Con- 
 tinental gesture. 
 
 "Quien saber 
 
 "But of course you must have some idea. What was 
 your own explanation?" 
 
 "I don't know that I ever had one that is, a satisfactory 
 one." 
 
 After they had both been refreshed with chocolate and 
 churros Sefton was able to urge him to begin his story. 
 He spoke with the deliberation of one to whom thinking 
 was an ordeal infrequently indulged in. Sunk in a back- 
 water of petty consular duties he had gradually surrendered 
 ambition, imagination and enterprise in a routine without 
 scope, acquiring most of the frailties of the native Madri- 
 leno. Withal he was a pleasant companion, kindly, hos- 
 pitable and intent to be of any assistance that he could. 
 
 In the study, ornamented with shabby Moorish decora- 
 tions and worn red damask, the two men remained seated 
 over the fire in the chimney. Twice the clock chimed the 
 hour, but neither noticed it. The coals in the grate glowed, 
 turned grey, shifted and fell through the grill in a silence 
 tense, electric, while Sefton waited for the next word.
 
 XV 
 
 THE arrival and departure of the train were two of the 
 events of the day at El Cerrito and greetings were ex- 
 changed between trainmen, guards and the inhabitants. 
 Mrs. Cass was on the platform before the train was due 
 and waited in the blistering heat until its dust-choked ar- 
 rival at five o'clock. She experienced a moment's doubt if 
 she would recognise Mr. Tooker at once, as she had seen 
 him only in the one instance when she had inquired on the 
 safety of travelling in the Sierra Morena. But her mis- 
 givings were instantly routed. She stood facing the first- 
 class carriages and he was the first person whom she saw 
 alight. 
 
 He came forward, lifted his hat and clasped her hand in 
 a manner of sympathy as at some bereavement. Seeing 
 him bear his head as one bestowing condolence tugged at 
 her self-control. In the first moment of greeting she did 
 not know what he said or her replies. They decided to 
 repair to the hotel for tea and then return by diligence to 
 Fuente la Higuera. 
 
 Once at the hotel, tea was served them upon an iron 
 table on a diminutive balcony under an awning. The sun 
 dropping behind the mountains had burnished the roofs of 
 the neighbouring houses with orange and brilliant pink, 
 the windows themselves glowing like copper. Below, in the 
 street, was a blind guitar player, led by a chico, and several 
 gleeful children, unconscious of audience, had begun sol- 
 emnly to dance the jota with no little suppleness and skill. 
 
 Mr. Tooker turned his back to the animated scene and 
 asked Mrs. Cass to tell him just what had happened from 
 the moment of her arrival in Fuente la Higuera until the 
 disappearance of her daughter. Realising the importance 
 that she tell an impartial story, unaffected by her own
 
 i 3 8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 surmisings, she recounted what had happened with as little 
 embellishment as possible. "\Yhen she reached the point in 
 her narrative when she explained that in examining room 
 "number five" she saw it was not that occupied by her 
 daughter, Mr. Tooker's eyes seemed to renew their hold 
 upon her. 
 
 "What room did your daughter occupy ?" he asked. 
 
 "I was never able to find it." 
 
 "Just what do you mean?" 
 
 "Precisely what I've said." 
 
 "Surely you did not leave Fuente la Higuera without 
 giving the posada a thorough investigation?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And even so you could not find the room which you 
 described ?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass shook her head. She had allowed her tea to 
 grow cold before her. 
 
 "No. I saw every room. They opened every door for 
 me, but Helena's room is not there. I know it sounds un- 
 believable, but it's the truth." 
 
 "How do you account for it? Your host isn't a magi- 
 cian." 
 
 "I don't account for it. Please don't look so incredulous. 
 I am speaking the truth. I know it cannot be explained 
 through supernatural agencies. Don Pedro is a dangerous 
 and unscrupulous man and I believe is capable of anything. 
 He is shrewder and better educated than the average 
 villager. It is no ignorant person that we have to deal 
 with." 
 
 "Evidently not. I know these things are so because you 
 tell me, but " 
 
 "There isn't any 'but' they are so." 
 
 "Very well. I believe you. The explanation will prob- 
 ably prove a very simple one when we get hold of it." 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "You think Don Pedro kidnapped your daughter ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then you know of a motive?"
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 139 
 
 "No. I thought at first that he might have been at- 
 tracted to her. I am told the dark Spaniard admires the 
 fair type of foreign women. Helena isn't fair, but she 
 has the light skin that one sees rarely here, but it seems the 
 man is married, so that may not be his reason. I thought 
 too it might be robbery, but in that case he would have done 
 so much better to come to me. I was carrying the money, 
 and I drank enough of the drugged aguardiente so there 
 was no danger of my waking. And the locks at the fonda 
 are so insecure they could be easily picked." 
 
 "You are certain the wine was drugged?" 
 
 "Positive. Don't try to minimise what I have told you, 
 Mr. Tooker. I am not naturally an excitable woman, so 
 you can accept my word as no more over-coloured than a 
 man's. I feel that your presence is going to frighten Don 
 Pedro. It's one thing to have a woman to deal with and 
 quite another to have a man. We ought to arrive at facts 
 to-night which will show us just where we are. You won't 
 have any more tea ?" 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 "Then let us go." 
 
 The sun had already disappeared, and a faint bloom which 
 would shortly produce a sinister darkness was enfolding the 
 country beyond the town. Mr. Tooker gave his bag to a 
 boy to carry and, excusing himself for a moment on reach- 
 ing the diligence, strode across the plaza to the telegraph 
 bureau where he saw to sending a couple of wires and then 
 returned. Angel lashed his mules and they were off. 
 
 It was close to nine o'clock when they reached Fuente la 
 Higuera and made their way to the fonda. Don Pedro was 
 not at home but Maria de la Concepcione admitted them. 
 Mrs. Cass looked at the woman's locked immobile counte- 
 nance. It neither expressed surprise nor dismay at her 
 return, nor any curiosity in her escort's presence. She 
 realised that here was a woman, hardened by long appren- 
 ticeship out of doors, with a strength greater than her 
 husband's, a constitution that knew neither nerves nor 
 fatigue. Hers was the hardness of bronze with a com-
 
 i 4 o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 plexion coloured by long exposure that had the beauty of a 
 statue only partially animated, a beauty proof against scars 
 of burning sun or inroads of utter exhaustion. She was 
 far removed from women of Airs. Cass's world who had 
 "days" for looking well and "days" for looking ill. 
 
 Maria de la Concepcione's stolid face betrayed no lapses 
 into curiosity when Mr. Tooker addressed her in her native 
 tongue. In her husband's absence she instructed him to 
 register on a strip of paper which she afterwards placed in 
 the book below Mrs. Cass's name. Later she led him up- 
 stairs and opened the door to "number four," and after a 
 hasty glance within, he agreed to accept it. In the mean- 
 time Mrs. Cass had unlocked her door and found her room 
 undisturbed. When she returned to the office a supper 
 was prepared for them, and Mr. Tooker urged her to eat. 
 
 "Your wine may have been drugged before," he agreed, 
 "but you may rest assured that they won't attempt anything 
 of the sort again." 
 
 Mrs. Cass compromised on a frugal meal, but Mr. Tooker 
 ate heartily. Later he picked up his hat and went in search 
 of Don Pedro at the friendly venta around the corner. As 
 Mr. Tooker reached the doorway he saw the room was 
 lighted by a single petroleum lamp hung from the ceiling. 
 Beneath it, in the harsh light and deep shadows, were 
 seated half a dozen men visible through clouds of cigarette 
 smoke engrossed in a game of cards which seemed to be 
 made up of equal parts vociferation and death-like silence. 
 It was during one of the momentary pauses that Mr. 
 Tooker appeared before them. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "is there one among you known 
 as Don Pedro from the fonda?" 
 
 "Si, senor. Perfectamente. I am that gentleman you 
 seek." 
 
 A man had risen, dark of face, possessing a curious, 
 passionate calm that seemed Arabic in its intenseness, the 
 quiet of boiling water that has cooled. His manner was 
 free of shifting or evasion, and he returned Mr. Tooker's 
 scrutiny without surprise or annoyance.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "I am the American Consul from Madrid, Don Pedro, 
 whom Mrs. Cass, the English lady of your fonda, has asked 
 to speak to you about her daughter. May I intrude upon 
 your time for a few minutes ?" 
 
 "Willingly." 
 
 As he lay down his cards Mr. Tooker recognised in his 
 partner the evil face and scarred brow that Mrs. Cass had 
 described as the present occupant of room number five. 
 He felt, instinctively, in spite of past doubts that she had 
 not overstated her case. 
 
 As Don Pedro stepped out into the night air he enquired : 
 
 "You arrived to-night?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Pray consider the fonda your house so long as it pleases 
 you to remain in Fuente la Higuera. It is the daughter of 
 the English lady you wish to speak of?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That pobrecilla!" 
 
 And he shook his head in desperation as he lifted the 
 latch and led his companion into the office. He offered Mr. 
 Tooker a pouch of tobacco which he declined, in order to 
 smoke one of his own cigars while Don Pedro rolled and 
 moistened a succession of cigarettes, one stub rapidly sup- 
 plementing another hanging limply to his under lip. Don 
 Pedro did not wait to be questioned. He already possessed 
 a story, apt, eloquent, and a readiness of words which as- 
 sured the consul it would be difficult to entrap the man. 
 He told of Mrs. Cass's midnight arrival, friendless, utterly a 
 stranger, without comprehension of the language, her sup- 
 per being served her and she accorded a room. Next morn- 
 ing she insisted upon seeing room number five, occupied by 
 Don Rodolfo, which she claimed belonged to this same 
 mythical daughter. She described, he said, the furnishings 
 of a room such as he had never possessed. A bed with 
 a canopy, if you please. Not that he would not be proud 
 to own any such luxury, but he, Pedro, and his wife, 
 Concha, were simple, unpretentious people and their beds, 
 the consul would be shown, were simply pallet beds, some-
 
 i 4 2 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 thing to provide a modest shakedown for the night, no 
 more. She had spoken of walls covered with flowers and 
 birds, which he knew was not irony. No, it could not be 
 irony. The sefiora was too patrician for such expressions. 
 He had been unable to pay for extravagances and had been 
 satisfied to have something more modest. But the consul 
 should see for himself. 
 
 With a willingness intended to deceive, he led Mr. Tooker 
 from room to room until every square foot of the f onda had 
 been investigated. Don Pedro's words had proven only 
 too true. The room Mrs. Cass recalled did not exist. Cer- 
 tainly it was not "number five." It was equally certain 
 that it was not any other room. Don Pedro did not ask that 
 the American believe his word but offered further evidence 
 of his good faith by lighting a candle lantern and leading 
 him into the patio. Here, by the well, he could hear two 
 asses moving in their stalls, munching hay, and smell the 
 not unpleasant odours of animals, grain and bleaching 
 straw. Here Don Pedro was at pains to explain that the 
 fonda contained no wasted space, so that it was obvious it 
 possessed no walled or secret door. He convinced the 
 stranger they had explored every possible receptacle under 
 the roof, where, as he explained it, "that so-called daughter" 
 could have hidden herself. 
 
 Mr. Tooker was not unimpressed. Don Pedro was, it 
 seemed to him, undoubtedly, a rascal. But he was also a 
 shrewd and convincing man. There was no point of Mrs. 
 Cass's story which he was not able to overcome with proof 
 and pointed comment, all uttered with his unfailing unction. 
 At length Mr. Tooker's own receptivity reaching its limit, 
 he said good night and, upon Don Pedro's "God be with 
 you," climbed the stairs alone. His host, singing a verse 
 of an old Spanish song, left the fonda in good spirits and 
 returned undaunted to his game. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Tooker avoided Mrs. Cass and sought 
 the alcalde. He remained with him an hour reviewing 
 every incident of Miss Cass's mysterious disappearance. He 
 heard the native man's own scepticism, who believed the
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 143 
 
 Senora Cass had been unaccompanied. Of the simple coun- 
 tryman's probity he had no doubt. At all events, this man 
 was no way in league with Don Pedro. Directed by the 
 alcalde, he later interrogated the cochero. 
 
 Angel now having had time to reconsider the events of 
 past days, thoroughly deplored his inebriety, an excess less 
 venial in Spain than elsewhere. Now completely chastened, 
 he assured Mr. Tooker that while at times during the drive 
 his mules had seemed double in number, he was now cer- 
 tain, that although most objects had been multiplied, the 
 occupant of the diligence had consisted of only one lady. 
 
 Mr. Tooker explored Fuente la Higuera before returning 
 to the fonda and there found Mrs. Cass awaiting his re- 
 turn. She had lunched alone, distrustful until she saw him 
 again, for already Mr. Tooker seemed a very dear friend. 
 
 "Have you been able to trace any clue?" 
 
 "No," he said bluntly. 
 
 And then they avoided each other's eyes as he lowered 
 himself heavily into the chair beside her. 
 
 "You've seen the room I spoke of is not here, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes. I have seen that." 
 
 "Well you must have some theory. Let me have it." 
 
 Mr. Tooker's eyes strayed to the animated street which 
 they glimpsed through the open door, and at length returned 
 to his companion. Mrs. Cass felt he would welcome any 
 distraction which would render speech impossible. 
 
 "Mrs. Cass," he said at length, "I feel I am totally in- 
 capable to cope with this situation. The very premise of 
 your case is one that evades my grasp. There is nothing 
 I can lay hands upon. If you had called upon me to assist 
 you to find a daughter who had been stolen I think I might 
 have been of use. But this is a very different matter from 
 what I anticipated. Mystery enters this. I'm . . . incredu- 
 lous. You see I can't restore a lost room. I'm a very 
 unimaginative man and unable to deal with anything but 
 concrete cases. I only believe in what I see. I'm a mate- 
 rialist. I admit it. What I don't see doesn't concern me.
 
 144 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Highly strung people no doubt see a great deal that is in- 
 visible to me. But don't you realise already that you have 
 sent for the wrong man?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass's face expressed terror. 
 
 "For God's sake, don't take it this way. There isn't any 
 right or wrong man. I sent for you because I know no 
 other American in Spain, and I am helpless except for what 
 you can do for me." 
 
 "If you wish me to place it in the hands of detectives on 
 my return to Madrid, of course I will do just as I am in- 
 structed." 
 
 "Don't leave me. Your judgment hasn't been affected 
 by what these Spaniards have told you, has it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 "It's what you have said yourself." 
 
 "You think I'm mad. That I ought to be put away some- 
 where. Mr. Tooker, can't you see from my appearance 
 that I am practical, that I am what is usually called a 'sen- 
 sible' woman? You feel instinctively that I am not given 
 to absurd vagaries or extravagant impressions, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," he admitted slowly. "That's why I cannot make 
 your appearance agree with your story." 
 
 "I am not surprised that the alcalde found Don Pedro's 
 words more convincing than mine. We could scarcely un- 
 derstand each other. We had no common language. More- 
 over, I represented a type unknown to his world. But you 
 and I are different. You know in your heart, as unbeliev- 
 able as all this sounds, that it is true." 
 
 She paused a moment, her hands at her breast in a 
 simple yet grandiloquent gesture of utter loss. So might 
 Niobe have remained. Mr. Tooker was moved in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 "I'm not a vain woman," she went on, keeping her voice to 
 a natural pitch as best she could, "but I looked in my glass 
 when putting on my hat to come down to meet you, and 
 I saw my reflection for the first time to-day. I was shocked. 
 I didn't recognise my own face. My appearance doesn't
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 145 
 
 matter. I only wish to say no woman looks as I do unless 
 she is suffering acutely. You know that." 
 
 He inclined his head. 
 
 "Isn't it manifestly impossible that any woman should be 
 in such torment over an imaginary matter? People don't 
 suffer as I do even in madness. I suppose you think I am 
 mad." 
 
 "I didn't say that." 
 
 "You implied it. And your silence convicts you. Mr. 
 Tooker, no sane woman would come here alone for noth- 
 ing. Now I left Madrid with Helena. We arrived at El 
 Cerrito together at nine o'clock. I can't prove to you that 
 my daughter was with me after that because Angel was 
 intoxicated and has forgotten. Don Pedro and Maria have 
 their own reasons for lying, and he has misrepresented 
 matters to the alcalde so he naturally believes them. That is 
 the strength of my opposition. Don Pedro's reason for 
 lying is only too patent, but why should you believe him. 
 You've seen Helena. You know she is a beautiful girl. 
 She is probably one of the first American girls that this 
 man has ever seen. It's not so difficult to understand that 
 he wanted her and has stolen her and is keeping her cap- 
 tive. She was wearing, the night we arrived, the same dress 
 as when she went with me to see you. Dark blue, with a 
 hat to match, a veil, a string of pearls, but they were under 
 her blouse and not visible. The pearls had little value, 
 about five thousand ; she had had them several ye?.rs, and 
 she was wearing a valuable diamond, but had turned the 
 stone on the inside of her hand so it did not show. She had 
 very little money with her, not over a hundred dollars. 
 If it had been theft and not the girl he had wanted he 
 would have stolen my pocketbook instead, wouldn't he?" 
 
 Mr. Tooker remained silent. 
 
 "Of course I am a mother and prejudiced," she went 
 on, "but didn't you think Helena was beautiful?" 
 
 Again he was silent. 
 
 "Why don't you answer?" 
 
 "Because I've never seen your daughter, Mrs. Cass."
 
 i 4 6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Have you forgotten ... in Madrid ?" 
 
 "No. I remember your coming to the consulate, and 
 you spoke of Miss Cass. You had a good deal to say about 
 her, but you were unaccompanied." 
 
 "You are sure?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 "I had forgotten. Seems to me she did remain at the 
 hotel that afternoon, now you speak of it, but that in no 
 way alters the facts, does it? You know she exists, don't 
 you? You believe I have a daughter, don't you? At least 
 you believe that?" 
 
 "Mrs. Cass, I am not a Spaniard. I can't say the pleas- 
 ant, easy things they do. I'm an American and am very 
 blunt. If you have a daughter who is lost, I don't believe 
 she is stolen. Furthermore, I don't believe Don Pedro or 
 his wife are in any way concerned with her disappearance." 
 
 "Then how could it have happened ?" 
 
 "In some perfectly simple, disingenuous way. I think 
 you probably know Miss Cass very slightly. I don't doubt 
 that the girl has met someone, perhaps a Spaniard, with 
 whom she was flirting without your knowing anything about 
 it. What has worried you with thoughts of kidnapping 
 and ransom, I believe, is merely an elopement. Every 
 mother thinks she knows her daughter, but how many do? 
 Was your daughter often out of your sight?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Isn't it possible she received letters without your know- 
 ing?" 
 
 "It's possible ... but I doubt it." 
 
 "Did you ever catch her surreptitiously posting a letter? 
 . . . Think well. I can see by your face that you have. 
 . . . Think it over and tell me if I haven't hit upon a more 
 likely explanation."
 
 XVI 
 
 MRS. CASS would not allow herself to answer his query 
 for several seconds. His supposition was improbable, but 
 she admitted it had its points of resemblance with the facts. 
 
 At length she said : 
 
 "If Helena has eloped, as you say, how do you account 
 for Don Pedro's lying? Do you think she paid him to say 
 he knew nothing about her?" 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "And this complete repudiation is simply the natural 
 excess of one not versed in lying discreetly?" 
 
 "At least it's worth thinking about. If Don Pedro 
 had stolen your daughter as ruthlessly and criminally as 
 you suppose, do you think he could appear as unconcerned 
 as he seems to be?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass covered her face with her hands and gave 
 way, and then abruptly pulled herself up at the consul's 
 next question. 
 
 "Do you know anyone in Europe interested in your 
 daughter ?" 
 
 "Helena considers herself secretly engaged." 
 
 "She does?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "This sounds more like it." 
 
 She told him of Mr. Jordan Buel's infatuation for her 
 daughter and of her conversation with Helena in Paris. 
 She and Helena had come to Spain alone and, so far as 
 she knew, the girl was not in communication with Mr. 
 Buel. Mrs. Cass regretted to make the admission but she 
 knew Helena had broken her word and sent him a note the 
 night before they left Madrid. Her daughter fancied her- 
 self very much in love with the man, but she doubted the 
 
 i47
 
 I 4 8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 attachment being serious, and disapproved of the match as 
 strongly as her husband. 
 
 "Now we have something to work on," he remarked 
 cheerfully as Mrs. Cass finished. She felt herself impreg- 
 nated with a certain optimism which these disclosures 
 seemed to have established in his mind. She reassured 
 herself that Mr. Tooker was a person of greater experience 
 than she and his substitution of motive for Helena's dis- 
 appearance was not unlikely a better working basis than 
 hers, with which to set out to overtake her. 
 
 "It now resolves itself into a case of 'find the man/ " 
 the American Consul continued. "Wherever Mr. Buel is, 
 there is your daughter. Have you his last address ?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass admitted that she knew nothing of his where- 
 abouts. She had not seen or heard of him since Helena 
 had left Brittany. At that time he had been stopping at 
 St. Lo, but merely to be near Miss Cass. He had undoubt- 
 edly left directly Helena was gone and was not unlikely 
 in Paris, or at St. Aix. 
 
 Mr. Tooker's brow clouded. It was not such a hopeful 
 outlook as he had expected. 
 
 "Do you know his banker in Paris?" 
 
 "No. I haven't an idea what bank he uses." 
 
 "At what hotel does he stop?" 
 
 "I don't know that either." 
 
 "If it were a matter of life and death for you to get in 
 touch with him, how would you go about it?" 
 
 She thought for a moment and then replied : 
 
 "I would wire every hotel in Paris where there was any 
 chance of his being. And in case he had stopped at any 
 one of them I would have my wire forwarded." 
 
 "Then do so now." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 "Yes. I will get Angel to take me in to El Cerrito this 
 afternoon. I'll leave in an hour and we ought to hear from 
 Buel inside a few days." 
 
 He handed Mrs. Cass his fountain pen and went off to 
 bribe the cochero to make another trip. Mr. Tooker had
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 149 
 
 a second and even stronger reason for wishing to go, beside 
 the ostensible one which he had given. He was expecting 
 a reply to the wire which he had sent on his arrival and 
 was impatient to see it. 
 
 Three hours later, amidst a jingle of bells, a snapping of 
 the whip and muttered curses, Angel drew his mules up 
 in the plaza before the telegraph bureau, and Mr. Tooker 
 alighted and entered. The wire he was anticipating was 
 already there. After giving his name the blue envelope 
 was handed him and he tore it apart and read : 
 
 "Mrs. J. de W. Cass and daughter, Miss Helena Cass of 
 New York, were guests of this hotel for eight days. They 
 left here September 7th, destination unknown, no forward- 
 ing address left. (Signed, Management of Hotel de la 
 Paz, Madrid.)" 
 
 The consul felt curiously ashamed at this ratification of 
 Mrs. Cass's word. Her story had been preposterous but the 
 woman was not deranged as she had seemed, but had really 
 travelled with a daughter. Helena Cass was a human be- 
 ing who had left Madrid w r ith her mother less than a week 
 ago, "destination unknown." 
 
 He read off the telegrams to be sent to the operator, as 
 the man understood no English. His first thought after 
 sending them was to remain in El Cerrito until replies came. 
 But he realised Mrs. Cass needed his presence in Fuente la 
 Higuera and returned that night. But before doing so he 
 had made a bargain with Angel to bring the answers with 
 him on his next trip. 
 
 When four days later Angel returned from El Cerrito 
 with the laconic statement that there was no wire for Mrs. 
 Cass her desperation was now at its most acute stage. Si- 
 lence signified to her that Mr. Buel could not be traced and 
 failing to ascertain where Helena had gone after leaving 
 Brittany he had, perhaps, returned to America. In that 
 case Mr. Buel's whereabouts was in no way correlative 
 with that of Helena's. The American Consul's ability to 
 discover fresh fortuity in each misfortune did not tend 
 materially to ease her fears. Mr. Tooker insisted that one
 
 1 50 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 of the Paris wires must have reached Buel and the fact 
 that he had not seen fit to reply was conclusive proof that 
 Miss Cass was with him. 
 
 "It stands to reason," he insisted, "that if Buel does not 
 know where your daughter is he would be alarmed in re- 
 ceiving a wire from you asking if she is safe. On the other 
 hand if they are together he will ignore your question so 
 as to hinder you from rediscovering them." 
 
 At length Mrs. Cass allowed this theory to quiet her. On 
 the evening of the seventh day since the wires had been sent 
 Angel returned from El Cerrito. This time he fumbled in 
 his coat and removed an envelope addressed to Senora Cass. 
 
 She read: 
 
 "Know nothing about Helena. Have not seen her since 
 Brittany. Am leaving first train. Will be with you to- 
 morrow. Jordan Buel." 
 
 It was sent from Madrid, where it had been forwarded 
 from the Hotel Edward VII in Paris. 
 
 Mrs. Cass's face turned slowly ashen. Her eyes were 
 stricken. She made no remark, but continued to look at Mr. 
 Tooker, her entire expression accusatory. 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said. "I've evidently been too incredulous 
 throughout. The whole experience has seemed so amazing. 
 We've lost a week through this and yet it may be that he 
 really knows. You saw her post a letter? You admitted 
 that. Then why was he in Madrid unless they had ar- 
 ranged to meet ? At least we shall find out to-morrow when 
 he comes." 
 
 At nine o'clock next evening Jordan Buel entered the of- 
 fice of the fonda followed by two men.
 
 XVII 
 
 "You don't know where she is?" 
 
 Mr. Buel hurled the question at Mrs. Cass without a 
 word of preamble or previous recognition. 
 
 "No. We thought she was with you." 
 
 "Then you can't know Helena very well. Did you think 
 she would desert you in a hole like this, at the mercy of 
 these people? Why did you ever come here?" 
 
 "Helena wanted to do some sketching." 
 
 "Sketching!" He pronounced the word disdainfully. 
 "She was restless and not herself. She didn't know what 
 she wanted. You should never have allowed it." 
 
 He turned harassed eyes which took in the limitations of 
 the room, noticed its other occupant and then returned to 
 Mrs. Cass. 
 
 "Who is this man ?" he asked. "Is he with you ?" 
 
 "He is the American Consul from Madrid, who has tried 
 to help me." 
 
 "Then he knows all about it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 If Mrs. Cass had encouraged any hope that Mr. Buel 
 was aware of Helena's escapade it was dissipated by his 
 appearance. The man had evidently passed a sleepless night 
 and his face was lined with anxiety. She realised that his 
 seeming hostility was in no way the result of being inac- 
 ceptable to Miss Cass's parents as a son-in-law. For the 
 moment he had risen to a condition of unselfishness which 
 she previously had thought not possible, wherein his only 
 feeling was for Helena's safety. He had set aside all past 
 prejudices and his anger was directed against the culpable 
 neglect which alone he felt was responsible for Helena's 
 loss. 
 
 "My name is Buel," he said, as he strode across the room 
 
 151
 
 I 5 2 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 and extended his hand to Mr. Tooker. "I am engaged to 
 Miss Cass, so this is more vital to me than to anyone else. 
 I want to thank you for anything you've done. Just what 
 has been done?" 
 
 "I'm afraid very little." 
 
 And then as Mr. Tooker hesitated before saying more, 
 Mr. Buel interrupting his uncommunicativeness, said 
 promptly : 
 
 "You can speak before these men. Senor Lopez is the 
 best known detective in Madrid, so I have been assured, and 
 Senor Rivas is his assistant. They both understand Eng- 
 lish. They will have to know just what has happened, and 
 they might as well now as later." 
 
 The two men indirectly introduced had disposed of their 
 luggage and, drawing up chairs, seated themselves beside 
 Mr. Buel. Their faces kindled interest, their eyes glowed 
 as though a fire burned behind each. Thus enjoined Mrs. 
 Cass repeated her story for the most part without interrup- 
 tion. It was Mr. Buel who spoke first as the narrative was 
 completed. 
 
 "Had Helena seemed just as usual before her disap- 
 pearance?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by 'just as usual,' " Mrs. 
 Cass replied, with momentary testiness. "She has seemed 
 a difficult girl ever since she knew you." 
 
 "I don't mean that. Was she in good spirits?" 
 
 "No. I haven't thought Helena happy for some time." 
 
 "Why not ?" he asked, sharply. 
 
 "Because of restlessness and discontent. I know that is 
 supposed to be more or less a sign of the times. But I 
 don't think that altogether explained it in Helena's case. I 
 believe she had something on her mind which preyed upon 
 her." 
 
 "Did you ever ask her?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Wouldn't that have been the simplest way of routing all 
 doubts?" 
 
 "You don't understand the relationship which ex-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 153 
 
 isted ..." She hesitated, then corrected herself, "which 
 exists between us." 
 
 They saw at once that the turn of phrase had been uncon- 
 trolled and yet it expressed the thought in each mind. Was 
 Helena alive now ? Was it not more reasonable to suppose 
 the girl had been killed and disposed of so that the answer 
 to her disappearance would never be known? Mrs. Cass 
 struggled for a moment to regain her composure and then 
 continued : 
 
 "I never asked Helena questions. There was no act of 
 self-sacrifice which she would not have willingly performed 
 for me, or her brother and sister. But the smallest duty, 
 if expected and an effort was made to coerce her, would 
 have galled. I held my daughter's confidence by never 
 asking for it. We were very close together while in Paris." 
 
 "Did Helena ever speak of me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "Does that matter now?" 
 
 "Yes. More than ever. Don't you suppose it occurs to 
 me that words may be all I shall ever have from her again ? 
 That I may have to content myself with what you tell me? 
 We're hoping she's alive, but is it likely?" 
 
 "Don't say that!" 
 
 "What did Helena say?" 
 
 "She asked me to overcome her father's bias against 
 you." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Do you wish to know my answer?" 
 
 "Of course. You refused?" 
 
 "I told her I shared it and that I didn't believe she really 
 loved you. And she said . . ." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "That she couldn't live without you." 
 
 Mr. Buel turned away, then rose and strode to the door, 
 where he stood looking out into the night. He remained 
 there several seconds, his face averted. The moonlight in 
 the narrow rough paved street between limewashed houses
 
 154 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 was brilliantly white. Now and then a shadow passed the 
 door, but there was little noise. At length by Tieroic meas- 
 ures he superimposed calm and returned to them. 
 
 "This conversation took place in Paris ?" he asked, speak- 
 ing in a dead voice, and at her affirming he added : "What 
 was the outcome of it?" 
 
 "I promised my consent to her marrying you if she would 
 agree to neither seeing nor communicating with you for four 
 months. If she still felt that she wanted to marry you at 
 the end of that time I would raise no obstacle to prevent 
 it." 
 
 "And did she agree ?" 
 
 "Yes. But she broke her word the night before we left 
 Madrid when she wrote to you." 
 
 "What do you know about that letter ? She didn't read it 
 to you?" 
 
 "No. I saw her post it." 
 
 "How do you know it was to me ?" 
 
 "By the expression on her face." 
 
 "That proves nothing." 
 
 "But your presence in Madrid does. You would not have 
 been there had she not sent for you. Will you read it to 
 me?" 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I destroyed it." 
 
 "I have been honest with you. The least you can do is 
 to tell me what she wrote." 
 
 "It was nothing that would be of assistance to us now. 
 She wrote about Madrid and said she wished I was there. 
 She spoke of plans to go into the mountains on a sketching 
 tour, to a place recommended by artists, and said she would 
 let me know the results of her pilgrimage. If the town 
 lived up to expectations she wanted me to follow her and 
 would let me know on arrival." 
 
 "Did she write you from here ?" 
 
 "No. I hastened to Madrid as soon as I received her 
 letter. I went at once to the de k Paz and they told me
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 155 
 
 you and Miss Cass had been there but had left. They did 
 not know your plans or destination. And Helena had left 
 no word for me. I waited over a week, each day expecting 
 Helena would write, but I never heard until your wire came 
 forwarded from Paris." 
 
 They were silent. The mere recounting seemed to place 
 Helena very near to them, as though she might open the 
 door any minute and ask why they were looking so pro- 
 digiously serious. They both remembered poignantly, her 
 laugh, which was at first low and chuckling, almost silent, 
 and later rose a sustained cadence like a singer's voice. 
 People called her laugh "contagious." 
 
 Then Mr. Buel continued: 
 
 "You both arrived at midnight, and you saw Helena 
 for the last time when you kissed her good-night, at about 
 one o'clock. It was ten o'clock when you went to her room 
 next morning, and she had vanished and all trace of her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then she evidently did not attempt to write to me that 
 night before retiring or else ..." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 Mrs. Cass spoke in a stoical voice: 
 
 "Finish your sentence." 
 
 "Or else she was killed before she posted it. For no let- 
 ter reached the post. I should have thought she would 
 have felt the need of a man here." 
 
 "Helena never had any sense of fear. She remarked the 
 fonda was primitive but clean and she thought we were 
 going to be quite happy." 
 
 The detectives, who by this time had listened to the story 
 throughout, now wished to go above stairs and see room 
 "number five," and to renew the incidents as they had been 
 related. Don Rodolfo was not in his room. He was not 
 in the habit of returning from the venta until three or four 
 in the morning, and then slept until noonday. As the detec- 
 tives examined the room they questioned Mrs. Cass for 
 details of it as it had appeared to her on the evening of 
 their arrival. She repeated descriptions of a tester bed
 
 156 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 under curtains and walls embowered in fuchsias and love 
 birds. Already the account sounded foreign to the fonda 
 and she found herself wondering if the room had really 
 looked as she remembered. Other happenings had crowded 
 out the vision of the room until it seemed less real than a 
 vivid dream terminated by a sudden awakening. 
 
 The detectives interviewed Don Pedro, Maria de la Con- 
 cepcione and Don Rodolfo. They told the same story as 
 before. When assured that Miss Cass had been seen and 
 recognised and was known to have come to Fuente la 
 Higuera, they marvelled. They had not seen her. They 
 knew they were no longer believed and their efforts to im- 
 pugn Mrs. Cass's sanity were useless, but they did not vary 
 their original statements. It mattered little that their in- 
 quisitors knew they were all criminally implicated, since 
 they had destroyed all evidence. 
 
 The detectives talked with the alcalde and townsmen and 
 though they realised a crime had been committed, they 
 could say no evil of Don Pedro. Of Don Rodolfo they 
 were more guarded in their terms of praise. He had lived 
 in the town over several months, and there were rumours 
 in Cuesta del Espinal, where he came from, that he had 
 been guilty of stealing sheep and performing other out- 
 rages. The men of Fuente la Higuera liked not to play 
 cards with him since he had a facility in winning which 
 suggested dishonourable means. But although every ef- 
 fort had been made in which to entrap him, they had failed 
 to find him guilty, and in the meantime he continued to win 
 the small earnings of the neighbours. 
 
 Cards were also Don Pedro's one passion, for drink, it 
 appeared, was rarely the vice of the Spaniard. His brain 
 was crafty, full of tricks but never befuddled. It seemed 
 Maria de la Concepcione was not his amiga as seemed more 
 natural, but actually his wife. So far as could be ascer- 
 tained his life had been blameless in the past and for years 
 back he had lived well within the boundaries of law and 
 order, or else in his crimes had shown exceptional agility 
 in dodging all suspicion.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 157 
 
 At the end of a few days, not satisfied that the detectives 
 had made any perceptible headway against the darkness 
 which enshrouded the disappearance, Mr. Buel placed the 
 case in the hands of the Guardia Civile. Following this, an 
 account of Miss Cass's disappearance appeared in every 
 newspaper in Spain. Already a week had passed and 
 their results were as discouraging as those of Mrs. Cass 
 and Mr. Tooker unaided. From the Spanish press the news 
 was copied in the Pans edition of the New York Herald, 
 followed by all the papers of France, England and Italy. 
 In less than forty-eight hours the case became celebrated 
 throughout Europe. Americans travelling abroad asked 
 themselves what could have happened. They were inclined 
 to scepticism over the usual disappearance but this seemed 
 a matter of actual kidnapping. Of course the girl would 
 be found, they agreed, as one couldn't vanish and not leave 
 some trace somewhere. And in the meantime it did pro- 
 vide a passe-temps to speculate on what had happened. 
 
 Coupled with the agony of her loss, Mrs. Cass realised 
 the responsibility to her family in America. She had been 
 careful not to write her fears until a vigorous search had 
 been instigated, and then, following the disheartening days 
 in which no conclusions were arrived at, she knew she could 
 wait no longer. Before the news had passed outside of 
 Spain she cabled Mr. Cass that Helena was lost.
 
 XVIII 
 
 A DOZEN pairs of dirty hands were extended to carry 
 Jay Sefton's bag as he stepped onto the platform at El 
 Cerrito from the Madrid expresso next day. He looked at 
 the shrewd young faces before him and decided that he 
 wished to carry his own bag himself. Taking several 
 centimes from his pocket he hurled them into the plaza and 
 there followed a scramble from the group of boys whose 
 sole occupation seemed to wait upon the chances of fulfill- 
 ing small commissions from arriving trains. As they rolled 
 over on the flagging in their fight for coppers a group of 
 startled pigeons took to the upper air. 
 
 Mr. Sefton turned to the station master to inquire about 
 the diligence to Fuente la Higuera. Learning that there 
 was a half hour before it was scheduled to leave and per- 
 haps longer he went to the hotel and despatched a hasty 
 meal. Upon returning he was stopped by a street-vendor 
 selling clasp-knives. He purchased one, not knowing pre- 
 cisely what use it was to answer, but feeling it was a wise 
 possession placed it in his kit-bag. 
 
 At the diligence he found another fellow traveller await- 
 ing the arrival of the cochero. And from him he learnt 
 that Angel had met with a serious mishap a few months 
 before, due to his unfortunate habit of refreshing himself 
 at the halfway house. One of the mules had been killed 
 in driving off the embankment while he was inebriate, and 
 Angel himself, although that was a small matter, had been 
 crippled for several months. The present driver, who ap- 
 peared presently, was middle-aged with only one remaining 
 eye, a cast having completely covered the other, and was 
 therefore known to all the travellers as "El Tuerto." He 
 was an evil-looking man, his face thin and bloodless, his 
 jaw unshaven, his clothes ill-cared for. 
 
 158
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 159 
 
 As Sefton took his place beside the cochero on the front 
 seat he felt there was every chance of his having occasion 
 to use his knife. Within the diligence were three travellers, 
 the cura, an elderly man in soutane and shovel-hat, and 
 two townsmen. The one-eyed pulled out his whip, and the 
 muleif after quivering in anticipation of his blows sprang 
 forward and in a moment they were clear of the streets of 
 the town. In the night beyond the scene became purely one 
 of conjecture. 
 
 Sefton attempted from time to time some sort of con- 
 versation with the one-eyed, but the cochero seemed morose, 
 not given to exchanges of confidences, and he learnt little 
 from him. The trip would have been tedious but for the 
 recklessness of his driving which skirted a dozen potential 
 deaths. They stopped at the darkened venta only long 
 enough to discharge merchandise and then continued. An 
 hour later their journey ended. The euro, and the two 
 travellers bade each other "buenos noches" and separated, 
 going in different directions. 
 
 Making his way to the -fonda, Sefton found a light still 
 burning and a welcome waiting for him from the posadero. 
 Don Pedro grasped his kit-bag from his unwilling hand, 
 saying fluently: "My poor house and all that is in it are 
 yours." Room number eight, it appeared, was at the trav- 
 eller's disposal and Don Pedro made as if to climb the 
 stairs when Mr. Sefton detained him. 
 
 "There is only one room in the fonda which I want," 
 he said, "and that is number five." 
 
 The Spaniard's fine eyes flickered for a moment and his 
 features became inscrutable as though a mirror that re- 
 flected a face had suddenly been breathed upon. Then he 
 set down his candle. 
 
 "The Senor has spoken. I am sorry if no other room 
 will suit him, but number five is already engaged." 
 
 Mr. Sefton picked up his bag. 
 
 "Then I shall have to look elsewhere for quarters. Since 
 the village does not boast another casa de huespedes per- 
 haps the alcalde or the cura will take in a stranger."
 
 160 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 The posadero's face was suddenly lit with an animation 
 that could be called forth at will. His eyes sparkled like 
 black diamonds and he smiled, laying bare a double row of 
 milk-white teeth. 
 
 "Wait a moment," he said, placing a brown hand upon 
 his arm. "Do not be in a hurry to leave my house. Room 
 number five is not engaged . only I am loath to let you 
 have it. I am superstitious. I tell you this frankly ; some 
 disaster attends every person who occupies that room, and 
 so I had decided not to rent it again. Now, number eight 
 is very comfortable." 
 
 "Senor, already I absolve you of any duplicity. I am 
 not superstitious. Let me assure you, nothing will happen 
 to me in number five. Or if it does, it will not be your 
 fault." 
 
 "You are very brave, Sefior." 
 
 "My courage does not warrant your compliment." 
 
 "It shall be as you wish. Only tell me how you have 
 heard of this room." 
 
 His eyes glittered and he covered his teeth with full over- 
 red lips. They were not the lips of an anchorite, Sefton 
 mused, as he attempted a better understanding of the 
 knave. 
 
 "Two English ladies, sisters, who were artists, stopped 
 here over three years ago. And they told me of the room." 
 
 For a moment his face remained a blank in the process 
 of attempting to place these people in his shifting memory, 
 but presently he gave it up with a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 "Doubtless, but I have forgotten them. Many, many 
 people come to my house. Always it is crowded, so I can- 
 not remember them. But Sefior has the room of his choice. 
 At all costs I wish the Senor happy." 
 
 Sefton bowed ceremoniously. 
 
 "Your hospitality is exceeded only by your goodness of 
 heart." 
 
 A few minutes later, having registered upon a strip of 
 paper that was inserted in the visitors-book, he followed 
 Don Pedro upstairs. His host unlatched and threw open
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 161 
 
 the door of number five and entering set down the candle 
 on the table by the bedside. The room had changed in no 
 detail from the description Consul Tooker had given him. 
 He was amazed by the accuracy of the man's memory. 
 Bare white walls, a tiled floor, furnished with a narrow bed 
 that suggested a sleepless night, two chairs, a table and an 
 armoire. Above the bed was an ebony crucifix to which 
 was nailed a silver Christ. 
 
 Don Pedro placed the bag on the floor in front of the 
 window and parted the curtains, then turned to his guest, 
 his manner begging commendation. 
 
 "It is undeniably a pleasant room/' Mr. Sefton said, con- 
 scious of its cold and dampness. 
 
 "It is no more than befits you. But there is not another 
 like it in Fuente la Higuera. I, Pedro, tell you so." 
 
 Arrangements for breakfast were settled, and then Don 
 Pedro went below stairs. Sefton looked dubiously at the 
 bed and his eyes made the circuit of the bare walls. He 
 glanced at his watch. It was just ten o'clock. He picked 
 up his hat, went downstairs and let himself out. 
 
 The village was closed for the night and the streets 
 through which he strolled were deserted or almost so. A 
 red star glowed at the corner beneath a shrine where some 
 penitent had besought indulgences. Occasionally a dull 
 lighted square showed behind a curtained grille. Sefton 
 strolled across the market-place, passed the church, the 
 alcaldia, the better dwellings of the village. He made a 
 complete tour of the village twice and then entered the 
 estaneo where tobacco and lottery tickets were sold. He 
 purchased stamps here from the woman behind her counter, 
 who was at the moment busily engaged in nursing her baby. 
 At a marble-topped table two men were occupied at a 
 game of dominoes. The room was blue with smoke from 
 them and their companions watching the game. He was 
 kept waiting a few minutes while the young widow dis- 
 engaged herself from her domestic preoccupations, and the 
 onlookers took this opportunity to salute the stranger, and 
 wish him well. When the woman was free to attend to
 
 1 62 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 his needs he noticed as she handed him the stamps that her 
 fingers were tobacco-stained. Weighing the leaf in bulk 
 upon the government scales it seemed was her chief affair, 
 since her patrons made each his own cigarettes. Good- 
 nights were called to him as he left the estaneo and he felt 
 the curse of being a stranger had been lifted. 
 
 Returning to the fonda, he mounted the stair, entered his 
 room, undressed and lay down for the night. For a long 
 time he remained quiet in the dark, the thought of sleep 
 distant. He had no fear of anything that could be done 
 to him in that ill-fated room, but he recoiled from fresh 
 surmises of what had happened to Miss Cass. A revisual- 
 isation of Don Pedro persisted in the dark which all his 
 will power could not dissolve. He saw the olive face, the 
 eyes black and stinging, the curiously dark flesh that sur- 
 rounded them. He could not blot out of his mind the bared 
 teeth glistening beneath the lips of a voluptuary. His 
 mouth was unlike that of any European he had ever seen. 
 It was the colour of a hibiscus flower, an unnatural red, 
 soft, like one of the great red carnations Spanish women 
 wore in their hair. The fancy of those lips torturing 
 Helena Cass, seering her flesh, purposeful, burning like a 
 branding-iron, made him turn on his bed. 
 
 And then he thought once again of the posadero's eyes, 
 cunning, practical, and they seemed to deny the indulgence 
 of the mouth. His eyes were not those of a man who gave 
 free rein to his impulses. Sefton had to admit that al- 
 though he was able to read most people, the unfamiliar 
 physiognomy of a subtle race in which was commingled the 
 furtiveness of the Arab and the simplicity of the Moor, 
 held him captive. He did not know what had happened to 
 Helena, or what influences had been at work. 
 
 He was awakened next morning by Concha, who tapped 
 upon his door, and not waiting for his answer entered the 
 room. She felt no timidity in finding him still in bed, for 
 to her a man was never a man unless a Spaniard. For- 
 eigners were people who paid for things, but aside from 
 their pocketbooks no other portion of them functioned.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 163 
 
 First she closed the window with a grunt of disapproval, 
 that anyone could survive so stupid an upbringing that in- 
 cluded sleeping in une corriente. Then she disappeared 
 and returned carrying a brasier with a few live coals and a 
 small pair of bellows. These were placed on one side of 
 the bed to temper the cold room, after which she placed a 
 tray across his knees holding a cup of thick chocolate and 
 buiiuelos. Then she left as stolidly as she had come. 
 
 He knew that his being in Fuente la Higuera without 
 occupation had seemed suspicious and condemnatory to 
 both Don Pedro and his Concha. He did not doubt that 
 they knew his real reason for being there. And yet if it 
 were possible to deceive them he realised it was worth 
 attempting. Therefore, during a long talk that evening 
 with the posadero he explained that he was a novelist and 
 was travelling in Spain for the purpose of writing a book 
 about the country. To supplement this he was able to show 
 pages of manuscript. He knew Don Pedro doubted him 
 but was impressed. 
 
 During the days which followed he began a careful in- 
 vestigation of room number five. The rooms adjoining his 
 were unoccupied. In fact he was the only guest at the 
 fonda except for two Spaniards, travelling merchants or 
 the like. He had attempted conversation with them and 
 concluded that they could in no way be useful to him. 
 Sefton felt he was not watched while in his room. He had 
 purchased a bottle of ink and when he went out he left a 
 disorder of paper on the table and floor to carry out the 
 impression that he had been writing. In reality he had 
 removed several tiles from the floor and had continued 
 systematic rappings on the walls, to see if there could be 
 any disused or secret passageway where victims could be 
 hidden. Several days were given over to this search which 
 he soon abandoned as wasted time, and once more con- 
 tinued his walks through the town. 
 
 One afternoon he decided to make a call upon the Alcalde 
 and directing his steps thither he rang and was admitted to 
 the sitting-room of that dignitary. After a wait of several
 
 1 64 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 minutes the Alcalde was summoned and appeared drowsily 
 from an interrupted siesta. Mr. Sefton apologised for his 
 inopportune visit, but when the hospitable Spaniard learnt 
 that his guest was writing a book about Spain he ordered a 
 bottle of Manzanilla and his best dolces. He inquired if 
 Mr. Sefton was pleasantly installed at the fonda, and was 
 gratified to learn that his comfort was being provided for 
 and that his impressions of the village were commendatory. 
 
 "I heard of Fuente la Higuera," Mr. Sefton remarked, 
 "through two English sisters, spinsters, who came here 
 three years ago to paint. They told me it was picturesque." 
 
 "So?" 
 
 "Yes. I think one of them made a sketch of someone at 
 the fonda. Don Rodolfo . . . Could that have been the 
 name ?" 
 
 The Alcalde shook his head. 
 
 "There was such a man here, but he has gone away." 
 
 "When did he go?" 
 
 "A year or more." 
 
 "Is he alive?" 
 
 "Unfortunately, yes." 
 
 "Where is he now?" 
 
 "I couldn't say, Senor. He's at one of the villages near- 
 by, I suppose. A very undesirable character. He and Don 
 Pedro had a falling out and to-day they are bitter enemies." 
 
 "What was his profession?" 
 
 "I would rather not say." 
 
 While Sefton ate the candied honey and pine nuts and 
 drained his glass of Manzanilla a plan formed in his mind 
 which was placed in execution next day. Accordingly he 
 left Fuente la Higuera abruptly and began his search. 
 
 Don Pedro came to the door and watched him leave, a 
 dampened cigarette hanging dejectedly from the corner of 
 his mouth undisturbed by his volubility. Sefton had made 
 him a present after paying his bill, assuring him of his 
 probable return. It was still early to avow his enmity to 
 the man; instead he saluted him with a final "Hasta la 
 Vista." Then he entered the tartana and jogged away
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 165 
 
 behind the burro down the mountain, seated beside the 
 driver, his bag strapped at the rear. 
 
 The services of the One Eyed could not be engaged as 
 he had decided to set out to Cuesta del Espinal, the nearest 
 village, in his hunt for Don Rodolfo, and the roadway was 
 too narrow for the diligence. He was counting heavily on 
 the hostility between Don Rodolfo and the posadero as the 
 instrument to give him his information. Revenge was one 
 of the staples of primitive character and Don Rodolfo could 
 be urged to tell anything, or so he argued, as long as it was 
 to the detriment of his past friend. 
 
 During the two weeks that followed Sefton visited every 
 village within a radius of many kilometres, each in turn 
 disheartening. It was on the afternoon he set out to Cin- 
 dra that he began to feel the weight of his discouragement. 
 He made the journey on foot, as his guide apologised for 
 his need of walking. He explained that his she-ass was 
 with foal and he, poor man, owned no other animal. The 
 distance was less than three kilometres and Sefton was 
 glad of the exercise. They were an oddly assorted pair as 
 they set out, the American in well-cut knickerbockers and 
 woolen stockings that showed his spare figure to advantage, 
 his cap pulled down over his eyes, a walking-stick in his 
 hand. The capa in which" the peasant usually muffled him- 
 self was strapped to his back and the bag on the end of a 
 stick slung across his shoulder, while they walked one in 
 front of the other. Sefton, who noticed his companion 
 was not young, offered to carry the bag, once when it was 
 placed on the roadside while his guide rested. But the 
 countryman looked at him reproachfully: 
 
 "Do not think I would allow a caballero to do this work. 
 . . . No, Senor. Tia Juan is made for this. He is fit for 
 nothing better." 
 
 Prickly pears grew raggedly along their road and they 
 approached coverts of bluish coloured aloes. Here and 
 there were strips of Spanish pine trees, the lower branches 
 lopped off for fire wood, only the upper foliage left like 
 elongated plumes.
 
 1 66 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 It was dusk when they approached the village and 
 Sefton's heart leapt within him as he noticed in the moun- 
 tainside the caves of the gypsies. They were discernible 
 even at a distance by their whitewashed entrances. A great 
 spray oi smoke rose from the midst of their encampment 
 against the acid green of the evening sky. There was evi- 
 dence of haste and signs of an intended removal from the 
 camp. As they drew near men and women of the tribe 
 vociferated among themselves and then were sullen as the 
 stranger passed. His guide crossed himself. 
 
 "Spawn of hell," he muttered. "Cursed heretics." 
 
 They entered the gates of the town and found a vivacious 
 group of girls at the fountain in the plaza drawing water. 
 He watched them with admiration, their splendid upright 
 carriage, balancing their great earthenware botijos on their 
 shoulders as they moved away. His guide led him to the 
 door of the fonda where he inquired if Don Rodolfo was 
 known and learnt that he was still an inmate of the village. 
 
 Sefton slept little that night. The excitement of being 
 in the same town with Don Rodolfo was not to be gainsaid. 
 At last he was on the threshold of a great discovery. He 
 arose next morning before the fonda was stirring and had 
 to wait interminably for his breakfast. At ten o'clock, 
 having received instructions ot the man's address, he set 
 out alone, thinking it best that the ruffian's suspicions 
 should be in no way aroused by his providing himself with 
 witnesses. He made his way to the poorest street on the 
 outskirts of the village. The centre of the narrow calle 
 formed a sink where past rains had been insufficient to 
 carry away the waste that choked it. Odours of animals 
 that frequented the interiors of these hovels and rancid 
 cookery outraged his nostrils. 
 
 The house where Don Rodolfo lived was one of extreme 
 abjection. An old woman sat in the doorway making lace, 
 throwing the bobbins with her withered hands. They leapt 
 and danced upon her lap as he had seen beans dance that 
 were inhabited by worms. She put down the intricate 
 pattern, of which a large portion was already finished, and
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 167 
 
 looked at him again. Her dry old lips articulated his ques- 
 tion after him when he asked if Don Rodolfo could be seen. 
 Then she entered the house which contained one room and 
 standing at the foot of a ladder that went up the side of 
 the wall she gave a strange animal cry. 
 
 Sefton heard a movement above. The floor responded 
 to a shifting of weight. Then followed a rustle as though 
 the person were lying on straw or husks. A moment later 
 a face appeared in the aperture, thin, ravaged, with bitter 
 black eyes, the brow of one lifted by an old knife-wound. 
 
 "Who wants me, mother?" 
 
 The crone gave an inarticulate sound indicating Sefton, 
 who stood in the doorway. Then she returned once more 
 to her work and the bobbins continued their crazy activity. 
 The men eyed each other a moment without speech. In 
 that moment Don Rodolfo seemed anticipatory of anyone 
 of a dozen misfortunes that had ridden him to ground. His 
 eyes, radio-active, pierced Sefton's composure. Then feel- 
 ing he had nothing to fear, his usual appearance of insensi- 
 bility returned and he asked who his visitor was and what 
 he might require. 
 
 Sefton removed his gold cigarette-case and lighted a 
 cigarette. He saw the man's eyes blaze through half-shut 
 lids at the gesture. Then he remarked if Don Rodolfo 
 would do him the honour to come downstairs he would like 
 a few minutes' conversation with him. The face thrust out 
 of the darkness, paled in spite of its olive skin, hesitated, 
 sought the depository of the gold cigarette-case and agreed 
 to join him directly. 
 
 Jay Sefton strolled in front of the hovel, breathing deep 
 of the air to exhaust the inhalations of the stinking room. 
 He turned in a moment at an imperceptible sound and 
 found Don Rodolfo silent-footed beside him. The clothes 
 in which he had dressed himself consisted only of a ragged 
 coat and trousers, bare feet thrust into loose slippers. He 
 took the cigarette Mr. Sefton offered him with a greedy 
 hand which showed how low a level his misfortunes had 
 reached since he was no longer able to supply himself with
 
 1 68 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 tobacco. His coat without buttons hung open and he saw 
 the man's coffee-coloured body through a rent in his shirt 
 in which his ribs lay bare. The miserable fellow's condi- 
 tion was one of positive penury. 
 
 "What do you want with me, Senor?" 
 
 "To know what became oF the Sefiorita Cass." 
 
 "The Senorita Cass? I know no such person." 
 
 "You will allow me the privilege of differing to the ex- 
 tent of not believing your words. Don Pedro has told me 
 his version of her disappearance, for which he says you 
 were responsible. In self-defense it seems to me you 
 should tell me just what happened." 
 
 The man loosened horrible imprecations. He smote his 
 temples, feeling a rage plethoric, impotent, that all but 
 strangled him. He questioned the legitimacy of his en- 
 emy's birth. One of his parents had been a goat. Then 
 at length he cried, through his teeth, his jaws clenched: 
 
 "He told you that?" 
 
 "Yes. You see it is obvious he can do you further harm. 
 You haven't benefited yourself just at present. And of 
 course if you tell me what I want to know I shall make 
 you a present." 
 
 It required no further urging. Sefton knew he could 
 profit by Don Rodolfo's position. It was understood they 
 were to lunch at noonday at a venta outside the town. Mr. 
 Sefton was pledged to provide a meal and wine, and to 
 make his guest an already stipulated gift of confidence, for 
 which consideration he was to hear the truth. 
 
 "Vaya!" Rodolfo cried. "You shall hear all you wish of 
 that . . . that rat-scorpion . . . that spider-crab. . . . You 
 shall hear." 
 
 The Inn of the Stars was a not unfriendly spot for all 
 that it seemed to cling to the side of the mountain more 
 through a faith in Saint Trinidad than through any archi- 
 tectural support. Part of its construction overhung a ravine 
 and below at a great depth was an ochre flow of sullen 
 water that had worn its course deep into the rocks. It had 
 been said that no rascal planning his victim's destruction
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 169 
 
 but attempted to urge his coming to this place. But it had 
 its pleasanter associations. It was the favorite haunt for a 
 merienda, and the cheerful host had a light hand on the 
 guitar and could frequently be urged to play for the young 
 women to instruct their elders how the jota should be 
 danced. 
 
 The inn was approached by a small cork wood, most of 
 the trees badly lacerated showing red through their re- 
 moved bark. And close to the ravine, their roots exposed, 
 were a group of eucalypti. Their leaves were the shape 
 of pendant scimiters and in every breeze they continued 
 their incessant whispering. One of the trees had broken 
 into premature blossom and its great height was covered 
 with a foam of flower. 
 
 Sefton met Don Rodolfo two hours later, according to 
 appointment, in the road before the venta. During his 
 absence the Spaniard had made no apparent change in his 
 very limited apparel. The meal had already been ordered 
 and was being prepared. The breeze brought the odours 
 of roasting kid cooked out of doors over a fire behind the 
 inn. A private-room for lunch was practically unheard-of, 
 but it was finally arranged that their meal should be served 
 them upstairs where they should remain undisturbed. All 
 the delights of a gastronome were placed on the white cloth 
 before them. Roasted meat, a pisto, a traditional dish of 
 eggs and pimento, cinnamon paste and Murviedo cheese. 
 
 Don Rodolfo took his wine at a single draught. With a 
 piece of bread he scoured his plate to wipe up the sauce 
 and swallowed it wolfishly. His hand trembled as he helped 
 himself a second time to the pisto. He took a piece of flesh 
 up in his fingers and tore at it with his teeth carnivorously. 
 It was obvious the man hadn't tasted food in days. His 
 hunger was distressing to witness and its appeasement re- 
 volted. Sefton moved his chair and sat smoking, refusing 
 the sweets and fruit, but Don Rodolfo helped himself to 
 each dish in turn. 
 
 At length his guest's rapacity eased, having over-eaten 
 himself, Sefton offered his cigarette-case. Don Rodolfo
 
 170 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 lighted one and moved his chair away from the table with 
 a groan. Events had undoubtedly gone against him since 
 he and Don Pedro had quarrelled. He ground an epithet 
 between his teeth. Sefton took out his wallet. It con- 
 tained the money he had promised. 
 
 "Now, Don Rodolfo," he cried. 
 
 The man's face was crafty as he began his story, but 
 later some of the passion of it carried conviction. It wasn't 
 entirely, so the listener decided, a matter of playing up to 
 what was expected in exchange for a fee. But there were 
 times when Sefton rose from his chair in horror, and then 
 he as hastily reseated himself, fearing in any way to break 
 the continuity. Much of what was said was extravagant; 
 most of it was untrue, particularly those parts in which he 
 was concerned. But Sefton's eclectic mind sifted and re- 
 tained those portions of the story which were likely until 
 he felt that he had entered into the mental processes of 
 their victim.
 
 XIX 
 
 AFTER Miss Cass had kissed her mother good night she 
 closed and locked her door and then remained standing 
 before it, at a loss to know what to do next. It was one 
 o'clock. She realised it was time she retired and yet she 
 felt particularly rebellious at the thought of sleep. 
 
 She remained for a while lost in thought, her eyes fas- 
 tened upon the enclosing walls with their fantastic decora- 
 tions of fuchsias on a yellow ground, each bouquet orna- 
 mented with love birds. Her thoughts returned to Jordan 
 Buel, as they had at short intervals throughout the day past. 
 Miss Cass had agreed to write him on her arrival, that he 
 might know her plans. The necessity of not keeping faith 
 with her mother was abhorrent to her, yet she satisfied her- 
 self on this point by deciding she would tell her in the 
 morning that she had written Buel for a second time since 
 making her promise in Pans not to. She attempted to re- 
 assure herself that her open declaration would in itself 
 absolve her of disobedience. 
 
 She removed the fountain pen and paper from her bag 
 and drew up a rush-bottomed chair before the dressing- 
 table, since this was the only flat surface the room con- 
 tained upon which she could write. She was hesitating as 
 to her mode of address, when she bethought herself that 
 she did not know where to leave her letter and the night 
 clerk below stairs had probably retired at this hour. The 
 diligence which plied between Fuente la Higuera and El 
 Cerrito made the trip only twice a week so that her letter 
 could not go on the morrow. 
 
 This decided her and she was in the act of putting away 
 pen and paper when she caught sight of her reflection in 
 the glass before her. The look in her eyes, ugly, accusa- 
 tory, filled her with fear. Surely those were not her eyes. 
 
 171
 
 i 7 2 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 She had never looked like that. She was looking into a 
 particularly distorted mirror, she reassured herself. Miss 
 Cass opened her dressing bag and took from it her own 
 hand-glass. She held it close to the candle, and she who 
 was without vanity slowly surveyed her features, as a 
 scientist might the peripheries of some recently discovered 
 phenomena. On the plastic mask of her face she appeared 
 to "try on" certain expressions. But after several minutes 
 of attention she was still shocked by the rigour of her face, 
 an expression of determination, dogged, steadfast, a bold- 
 ness of eye, and a compression of lips that had become per- 
 manent. . . . She slipped the hand-glass back into her 
 bag and began her preparations for the night. 
 
 She removed the pins from her hair, brushed it methodi- 
 cally until its thick blackness glistened, then plaited it 
 swiftly. Her clothes she cast over the back of a chair, 
 slipped on a nightdress and threw over it a peignoir of dark 
 silk. Then she moved the chair close to her bed, balanced 
 the candle in the middle of it since there was no table she 
 could use, and cautiously got into bed. This performance 
 was despatched in five minutes, and then feeling that 
 sleep was deferred for several hours she opened a new 
 volume of La Pardo-Bazan which she had attempted to 
 read on the train. 
 
 She read several pages automatically and then found her- 
 self drowsily wondering at the meaning of quite simple 
 words. She reread whole sentences where the meaning 
 had eluded her. But she found after going over them a 
 second and a third time that they were no clearer. Her 
 brain felt curiously numb and it suddenly occurred to her 
 that she must be falling asleep. She stupidly laid aside the 
 book and making an immense effort at wakefulness, she 
 raised herself on one elbow and managed to blow out her 
 candle. A little light entered the room from the window 
 which gave on to the street, but the draperies which fell 
 from the canopy kept the occupant of the bed in com- 
 plete darkness, and almost at once she was asleep. 
 
 As Miss Cass wakened she remembered thinking she
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 173 
 
 must have been exhausted, for sleep had been dreamless, 
 and only a loud and insistent sound could have aroused 
 her. With a return to a sentient state she wondered what 
 the noise could have been. 
 
 There was no movement in her room; no sound. Yet 
 with a suddenness that was animal she realised she was not 
 alone. Even then she did not open her eyes. She was 
 conscious of the changed beating of her pulse. Little 
 hammers were striking themselves upon all parts of her 
 body. She attempted to control her breathing into long, 
 slow, natural breaths, so that whoever the occupant might 
 be he should remain deceived. 
 
 She heard a rustling behind the curtains of her bed, and 
 realised it must be a rat and was about to rise and light 
 her candle. Her eyes were open now, piercing the dark- 
 ness although she could not decipher anything. At that 
 moment she heard a slippered foot on the tiled floor. To 
 her thoroughly roused senses the sound was loud although 
 her critical sense told her it was almost inaudible. The 
 sweat formed on her forehead. Her hands were moist 
 with fear. She who had never known what it was to be 
 afraid was now drained by fright. 
 
 Her feelings did not permit an analysis. She knew her 
 fear was occasioned less by her discovery than by her in- 
 ability to explain the purpose of the visit. She wondered 
 if she had moved upon waking and that had deterred the 
 intruder from further investigation. She waited. The 
 sound was not repeated. She was almost ready to pass 
 over the experience as an hallucination of half wakefulness. 
 The only efficient means of proving this was to leap out of 
 bed and look behind the curtains. 
 
 Miss Cass was about to put this plan into action when 
 she heard once again the sound of a slippered foot on the 
 floor. He had taken another noiseless step. She knew in- 
 stinctively it was the night clerk. She asked herself what 
 had been his method of ingress. By the window? . . . 
 No. He had a pass key. She wondered that she had not
 
 i 7 4 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 suspected the man's plausibility before. The strange 
 Moorish face . . . the sensitive dark hands! 
 
 What did he "want? 
 
 The thought stiffened the hair of her head. She lay 
 rigid. He was close now. Suddenly she felt the pillow 
 under her lifted ever so adroitly while his hand was in- 
 serted to see what was hidden there. His search was de- 
 liberate. The pillow was not lowered until the hand had 
 made ample exploration notwithstanding that it remained 
 unrewarded. Next she could feel it burrowing under the 
 mattress. 
 
 He leaned over her. Did he know she was not asleep ? 
 That this was only pretence ? She was aware of the man's 
 bitter breath, his face close to her own. . . . She was lying 
 with her left arm underneath her, and it was her left hand 
 that wore the navette-shaped diamond. She knew now what 
 he wanted; it was her ring. 
 
 He drew her right hand from underneath the counter- 
 pane and then replaced it gently. He lifted her body ever 
 so slightly and removed her left hand from under her. 
 Her ring fitted closely below her knuckle but he had no 
 difficulty in removing it. A feeling half fear, half indigna- 
 tion shook her as he drew it from her finger. 
 
 Surely he knew she was not asleep ! He knew she was 
 afraid to cry out or defy him! 
 
 There was a pause. Was he examining the ring ? Would 
 he go now? Through closed lids she was aware that the 
 light in the room was stronger. Had he lighted a taper? 
 She thought to half open her eyes. As she did so she 
 realised he was bending above her, watching her in closest 
 scrutiny. 
 
 She was wearing a necklace under the lace and ribbon 
 of her nightdress. She felt his fingers pulsing below her 
 throat. With his hand upon her bosom she was no longer 
 able to simulate sleep. The touch of him upon her breast 
 outraged her. It brought her heart up into her throat. 
 Each blow of it was physical pain. She opened her eyes 
 and sat up in bed.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 175 
 
 Her first discovery was that the night clerk had lighted 
 the candle which burned on the dressing table behind the 
 bed. Although the circumference of the room was clear she 
 herself was still in shadow. She looked into the face before 
 her. She saw the gleam of white teeth out of the dark 
 oval, and remembered those on each side of his mouth in 
 his upper jaw, pointed like a wolf's. He had raised his 
 arm to shelter his face from her sight, but she cried out 
 stridently : 
 
 "I see your face. I know who you are." 
 
 She attempted to rise, to rush to the window with a cry 
 of "auxilio . . . auxilio!" But a weight held her down. 
 She struggled. 
 
 "The senorita is mistaken. The senorita has not seen 
 me." 
 
 "I have. I have. You admitted us last night. You 
 served supper to my mother and me." 
 
 She attempted to wrench herself free, and then was 
 borne down as it seemed to her into the bed. Her head 
 was buried into the pillow. She was breathing feathers. 
 They stuck in her throat. Her temples were bursting with 
 a grinding pain. Her eyes burned in their sockets. She 
 felt they were being drawn out of her skull. And the pain 
 at her throat was intolerable. Yet she could not cry out, 
 could not move. Could only suffer . . . suffer as she fell 
 . . . for she was falling through limitless space into un- 
 relieved darkness. Her throat still burned but the remain- 
 ing parts of her were congealed, were turning slowly to 
 ice ... were ice.
 
 XX 
 
 DON PEDRO stepped back from his work trembling. The 
 young seiiorita lay in a crumpled heap across the foot of 
 the bed. The light of the concealed candle was enough 
 to show the bruise on her throat, the tongue which pro- 
 tuded from the mouth, and her eyes Dios de mi Alma! 
 They were not good to see, those eyes ! 
 
 He leaned against the wall weak with fright. He had not 
 intended killing the sefiorita. Nothing had been further 
 from his intentions. She was rich and he and his Con- 
 cepcione were poor. He had not wished her any bodily 
 harm, so he assured himself. His thoughts already took the 
 form of excuse and palliative, yet he knew no explanation 
 of his would curb the investigation of the Guardia Civile. 
 And all he had wanted was a little money. 
 
 He had pulled off small tricks among foreigners before 
 and gone unscathed. He had wanted the ring, 100 or 150 
 reales if possible and the necklace. He would have buried 
 them and months later have converted them into gold while 
 in Cordoba in the Calle de los Ucedas or if need be in Ma- 
 drid. His discretion would have remained unimpeached. But 
 he had been frightened. She had evidently not touched the 
 aguardiente for she had wakened easily and seen his face. 
 He had thought only of self-preservation. Instead of 
 stopping her cries he had committed murder. . . . He 
 damned himself for using so much strength. He took out 
 a handkerchief and drew it across a wet brow and then 
 wiped his slim mahogany hands, the long taper fingers that 
 could strangle. He had been too zealous this time. He 
 had overdone his job. 
 
 He looked at her where she lay, the Senorita Inglesa, 
 with her terrible sightless eyes convicting him of crime. 
 He realised she could not be left there. And yet murder 
 
 176
 
 177 
 
 had been so far in excess of his plans that, for the moment, 
 he did not know what to do. 
 
 His first act was to tear a sheet from the bed and throw 
 it over her. But the settling of the folds about her young 
 body revealed the corpse beneath. The broken lines of 
 her were as completely visible as though the impress of 
 murder were woven into the coarse cotton. Don Pedro 
 was afraid. It was his only offence that had been com- 
 mitted with an absence of strategy which would betray 
 him to the duller wits of his neighbours. This was rapine 
 and butchery. This could not be hidden. The whole burrio 
 would know of it. He crept downstairs to tell Concepcione. 
 
 A few moments later Maria de la Concepcione, or Concha 
 as she was familiarly called, fully dressed, mounted the 
 stairs and entered number five. In spite of a superstitious 
 fear of death she had been given her instructions. It was 
 her business to fulfil them. True the cards had already 
 predicted that Pedro would come to an untimely end. 
 Therefore since El Demonio had whispered to her hombre 
 a means to conceal his infamy, it was not for her to insist 
 lest she herself be punished by the aojo. 
 
 She plucked the sheet from the body. If :he experienced 
 any protest or recoil, she at least mastered the physical 
 essentials. She dressed it in the clothes she found upon 
 the chair, even to boots, hat and veil. Every object con- 
 nected with the young woman was replaced, the ring 
 upon her finger, the necklace about her throat. Though 
 she were to be found later on there must be no evidence that 
 she had been robbed. The candle flickered, ends of wick 
 flaring fitfully. The corpse propped into unnatural posi- 
 tions made grotesque shadows on the wall. Several times 
 Concepcione crossed herself to avert evil and muttered : 
 "Poramor de Dios." 
 
 When the work was completed the sweat had made run- 
 nels down her cheeks. In a struggle against fear, she felt 
 an equal trepidation of Pedro with that of the supernatural. 
 The corpse clad, it was wrapped hastily in an old quilt. 
 Concepcione then shouldered the weight and opened the
 
 178 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 door. There was no one moving in the passage. Cautiously 
 she made the descent carrying her burden. 
 
 She entered the office and pushed open the door to the 
 kitchen. She stood there a moment listening. She tapped 
 quietly on the outer door which admitted to the patio. 
 
 While she had discharged her duty above stairs Pedro 
 had not remained idle. He had drawn out the old carriage 
 into the middle of the stone-paved patio and harnessed the 
 asses to it. His own harness was ornamented with jingling 
 bells. In place of this he had substituted a crude patching 
 of cloth and esparto grass. The animals, little accustomed 
 to being roused in the middle of the night, stood timorously 
 together, their heads touching, their tails drawn between 
 their legs. Don Pedro did not curse them as usual. Mov- 
 ing noiselessly as a cat across the tiles he emerged from 
 the straw loft. He placed the straw on the bottom of the 
 carreta. Upon this he signalled to Concepcione the body 
 was to be deposited. 
 
 Following his silent instructions, Concha revisited the 
 upper room. She returned carrying the dressing-bag, 
 walking-stick and box of drawing materials. A pair of 
 slippers and a litter of smaller articles her acumen had 
 prompted her to gather into a square of bright cotton, the 
 ends of which were tied together guitana-fashion. These 
 were placed beside the body and over all was laid a cover- 
 ing of straw. 
 
 There remained nothing more to be given attention before 
 starting. The animals' hoofs had been packed with mud. 
 Don Pedro opened the door which communicated with 
 the narrow calle. Making certain that no one loitered in 
 the thick darkness of the doorways across the street he 
 spoke to his donkeys. At a whisper they moved forward, 
 guided by him as he walked at their side carrying a prod. 
 Concepcione went to the door and watched them as they set 
 off down the silent street, a strange death cortege. The 
 asses' hoofs on the paving were almost noiseless. The only 
 sound was the turn of the wooden wheels of the old carre- 
 ta., Murmuring "Maria Santisima, le guarde," she crossed
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 179 
 
 herself and went within before they had turned the corner. 
 
 Don Pedro knew the streets of Fuente la Higuera as well 
 as he knew the palm of his own right hand. It was there- 
 fore a simple matter for him to select those streets wherein 
 his chances of observation were minimised. There were 
 only two wine-shops that remained open until morning. The 
 noise within these was intense so that it was possible that 
 Don Pedro might have passed their lighted doorways un- 
 remarked. 
 
 He guided the donkeys, however, from the elbow of the 
 street across the market place where most of the alleys 
 debouched. This was now deserted, the stalls empty of 
 produce. From here he made his way down a succession 
 of narrow black spaces, over ruts and uneven pavements. 
 Had Don Pedro not known the byways of Fuente la Hi- 
 guera as well through impenetrable darkness as by light, 
 he could not have guided the pair. But at a corner the 
 donkeys turned abruptly and a rear wheel went over the 
 high curbstone. The carreta pitched violently. Then as 
 the solid disk of the wheel was dashed against the stone 
 the noise of it burst between the narrow walls like a per- 
 cussion. A voice behind a grated window called: 
 
 "Quien Vive?" 
 
 Don Pedro placed a hand on the bridle of the near animal. 
 They had turned the corner and now stood silent. He won- 
 dered if the asses' breathing could be heard. He waited. 
 There followed no further interrogation. No light flashed 
 in the alley, so they continued. They left the town by the 
 Puerta del Norte and drove into the open country. 
 
 Less than a kilometre from the town was a location which 
 had been in recent use as encampment for gipsies. This 
 tribe of gitanos was in small favour in Fuente la Higuera, 
 both on account of theft and because of the belief that they 
 had brought a visitation of lice and miseria. 
 
 The only member of the town who had been in com- 
 munication with them was the stranger known as Don 
 Rodolfo. Rodolfo, a thief by inclination, was a specialised 
 sheep-robber by profession. Claiming to be the friend of
 
 i8o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 the gitanos he proved himself their superior in guile. Fol- 
 lowing every transaction with him they loosened horrible 
 imprecations and cast their knives into the ground. 
 
 Don Pedro recognised a valuable acquaintance in him 
 and offered shelter with the understanding that he share in 
 his increment. One of the fundamentals of Don Rodolfo's 
 success was his knowledge whom to cheat and whom not 
 to. He had made a mistake once and carried henceforth 
 the mark of it in the knife thrust which lifted one brow 
 and gave his face a curiously inquiring look. He saw in 
 his host a man of parts ; their relationship remained one of 
 scrupulous integrity. 
 
 The open country across which Don Pedro travelled was 
 mostly waste land used for grazing, but following con- 
 tinued draughts now worn barren as a hide. At length 
 Pedro ordered the asses to halt. Upon discovering the 
 spot where the gipsy fires had burned he made his way 
 down the side of the mountain. Here after investigating 
 some shrubbery he pushed aside its branches. Striking a 
 match he found an opening in the rocks. It was as he 
 thought. This was the spot Don Rodolfo had described 
 where the gipsies had kept their stores. It was depleted 
 now, but would serve very well. He allowed himself the 
 cynical smile of the man to whom obstacles are created 
 only that he may override them. 
 
 He returned to the carreta, carried the straw and 
 made a bed of it under the rocks. The body was committed 
 to this rough pallet. He left the sefiorita where he had 
 thrown her, lying upon her back, her head straining away 
 from her body as though the delicate stem of her throat 
 had been snapped. Beside her were those possessions which 
 his prudence had urged to take from her room. 
 
 Don Pedro paused for a moment before leaving. He was 
 aware of a feeling he could not define. The fear of the 
 criminal who has overreached himself merging into the 
 superstition of an imaginative brain wherein anything is 
 possible. 
 
 He struck a match. Cradling it in his hands he watched
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 181 
 
 it flare up for a final look. In the sulphurous glow the 
 bruise on the corpse looked uglier than before. But as he 
 watched his jaw fell open, and he stared with congested 
 eyes. The night air was not cold, yet he shivered. He saw 
 that the lids of the dead woman had closed naturally! 
 
 "Valgame Dios !" 
 
 He tore at her hand, gripping it between trembling 
 fingers. He felt fumblingly for her heart. His match 
 burnt itself down to his fingers. When it went out he did 
 not feel its scorching. There followed an interminable wait 
 in the dark. 
 
 There was a slight movement in her, as though under 
 the ice the thaw had set in. There seemed a special mes- 
 sage for him in the life which answered his touch. 
 
 Don Pedro felt for his clasp-knife. Then as he waited 
 for further signs the little runnel within ceased, and he 
 knew that it was not necessary that he slit her throat at 
 least for the present. The heart's action, almost imper- 
 ceptible at first, became weaker. He had nothing to fear. 
 She would be dead before daylight. He was no longer her 
 murderer. If it so happened she died, that was God's affair, 
 not his. 
 
 He decided to return to the body in twenty-four hours, 
 or sooner if he could do so without detection. There were 
 difficulties ahead which would require the use of all his 
 craftiness. If by any chance there was still life left in her 
 upon his return she must be done to death. But he was 
 enough of a craven not to wish to kill her twice. The corpse 
 would then be buried, and whatever she possessed of value 
 would be hidden in the ground in some spot easy of access 
 to him. These articles could be retrieved after the seno- 
 rita's disappearance had ceased to agitate people, two years 
 later, three or four . . . whichever was required. 
 
 So reasoning, Don Pedro's first anxieties over, he re- 
 traced his steps to the roadway and drove his asses back into 
 the town. As he drew near the posada he sniffed the air. 
 A rancid whiff of burnt cloth and leather, materials not 
 intended to be fired, outraged his nostrils. The stench be-
 
 1 82 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 came stronger as he reached his street. At his own door 
 he gave the signal. It opened and he passed in, following 
 his asses and the carreta. 
 
 In the middle of the patio were heaped a quantity of 
 charred ends where a strong fire had been burning, and 
 had transformed all the furnishings of number five into 
 ashes. 
 
 "Have you burnt everything?" 
 
 "Todo . . . todo," was Concha's terse reply. 
 
 She led him once more upstairs. What had once been the 
 chamber of death was now an empty room. Don Pedro's 
 labours were not yet over. On the floor stood a broken 
 cask filled with whitewash which Concepcione had slacked. 
 A brush awaited his hand to blot out the last identification. 
 
 Three quarters of an hour later the fuchsia and love birds 
 had given place to walls of grey-white blanks. A trans- 
 version had been accomplished which betrayed no secrets. 
 Don Rodolfo, then roused, was established with his effects 
 in the deserted room. 
 
 This done the posadero went below stairs. Ill accustomed 
 to work, he undressed and threw himself upon a tumbled 
 bed. When the dawn came over the housetops of Fuente la 
 Higuera, fatigue and oppressed nerves had already de- 
 coyed him into heavy sleep.
 
 XXI 
 
 HELENA felt her spirit toiling back to her body from 
 illimitable space. Consciousness was withdrawing her thou- 
 sand veils and through them sensation was attempting to 
 penetrate. 
 
 She was aware only of exhaustion of mind and body. 
 She lay without attempting to turn, regretful at waking. 
 With her eyes closed she realised she was in the dark. Ex- 
 tending one hand she touched a wall of rock. Of a sudden 
 her mental processes were shocked into instant reason. 
 She opened her eyes but the unfathomable darkness did not 
 give way. 
 
 She thought to rise. She told herself she should attempt 
 some escape, but the clearness of her mind was already 
 waning. Films of oblivion were shutting down upon 
 her. ... A velvet darkness that suffocated, had her by the 
 throat and she was once more adrift. . . . 
 
 Miss Cass realised that it was hours later that her weak- 
 ness passed. With a competency almost unimpaired her 
 mind was able to explore her condition. An exhaustion that 
 bound her hand and foot prohibited any movement. She 
 was no longer in her room at the posada. She remembered 
 Don Pedro's visit to her as something which had occurred 
 aeons before. He had robbed her and attempted to strangle 
 her, but in the latter effort he had not been entirely suc- 
 cessful. Where had he taken her? She thought of her 
 mother. She had little hope that Mrs. Cass could find her. 
 
 She remembered that she had not written her letter to 
 Jordan Buel. He had no means of knowing to what hill 
 town she had betaken herself. Her mother had always re- 
 mained uninformed as to his address, and he was the last 
 person she would turn to for assistance. Mrs. Cass knew 
 no Spanish, could not even make herself understood. Was 
 
 182
 
 1 84 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 she to die then because the means of adequate search was 
 denied her? She thought of Mr. Buel waiting in Paris 
 after receiving her last letter. How long would he endure 
 the suspense ? He was not a patient man. She thanked God 
 for that. But could she live until he went to Madrid and 
 engaged detectives there to follow his unaccountable fiancee 
 whose silence had suddenly become ominous. 
 
 Why shouldn't she cease writing? Might he not at- 
 tribute it to reserve or a perversion of coquetry? Sup- 
 pose he were to fancy she was deliberately annoying him 
 and so remain in Paris until she saw fit to continue writ- 
 ing? Suppose he who was unimaginative should attach no 
 further importance to her act than that she was travel- 
 ling and hard pressed for time? Why not? What could 
 happen to her? Was she not with her mother? What 
 reason had he to be apprehensive? 
 
 Under the protection of rocks she turned and re-turned 
 on her bed of straw, knowing there was scant chance of 
 her recovery. She had been carried to that spot only to be 
 out the way. She knew that just so long as she remained 
 alive was she a menace to Don Pedro. She wondered if 
 someone would return to transport her to some more dis- 
 tant hiding, or to have her put away and her body buried. 
 
 She attempted to rouse herself from the torpor which 
 she recognised was germinating sleep or loss of conscious- 
 ness. But the effort was too great. She was letting go, 
 when suddenly her faculties sprang to instant life. 
 
 She heard a step on the loose flints near by. The shrub- 
 beries at the entrance were thrust aside. An adumbra- 
 tion poised a moment between her and the light. There 
 was a pause. Then a scraping of a match upon the rock 
 and Don Pedro was leaning over her. 
 
 Her closed eyes did not deceive him. Although the face 
 was waxen in its pallor by match light, the lips were not dis- 
 coloured. The nails of her hand which lay by her side had 
 not paled. And as Don Pedro watched he detected her 
 breathing. 
 
 Miss Cass knew by the oath which escaped his lips that
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 185 
 
 she was unsuccessful in her effort to counterfeit death. 
 And with this discovery both body and brain were sur- 
 rendered to terror. The pain at her throat where he had 
 mishandled her now burned like a cautery. The very tissue 
 of her felt loosened from the bone. 
 
 He had come back! She had known he would do this! 
 But she had not expected him so soon! Perhaps he had 
 been gone longer than she thought. Why hadn't he killed 
 her outright? She made a monumental effort to hold her 
 breath and failed. 
 
 He remained for a moment kneeling before her, the rock 
 above not allowing him to stand. The quality of his lan- 
 guage as he watched, was not reproduceable. Then he left 
 abruptly. 
 
 She heard the brushwood torn aside. She opened her 
 eyes in the dark. He had gone. But having found her 
 alive, why had he left her? And then something of the 
 malignancy of his plan suggested itself to her imagination. 
 
 She turned on her side, struggled to her knees and 
 crawled toward the mouth of the cavern. She was forced 
 to feel her way. Although her eyes were long accustomed 
 to the dark, the overshelving rocks were low, almost to ob- 
 scuring the entrance. Reaching the shrubberies she paused. 
 There was no sound nearby. She parted them and looked 
 out. 
 
 The hillside was saturated in moonlight. Above the sky 
 quivered like a blue flame. The radiance thrown over the 
 uneventful landscape before her was such that a small ob- 
 ject was discernable, even at a distance. Miss Cass realised 
 at once that all thought of escape was foredoomed to failure. 
 And with this discovery she felt at once weaker. In her 
 condition she could only drag herself a few feet. But the 
 hillside provided no shelter. There were no folds in the 
 slope where she could remain under cover. Nor was there 
 oak or olive or carrasco which clothed the more precipitous 
 inclines approaching Fuente la Higuera. For a distance 
 on all sides stretched exposure, where she would perforce 
 make a ready target for Don Pedro on his return.
 
 1 86 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 She continued to look about her in despair. She knew 
 the futility of any effort in attempting to thwart him in 
 whatever his purposes. She forced herself through the 
 shrubbery and managed to rise to her feet. As she did so 
 her efforts sent a runnel of loosened stones careering down 
 the hillside. She drew back, clinging to the rock in 
 fright. The stones turned over and over and at length 
 were caught below. She was paralysed by the sound. Her 
 face in the moonlight was a mere wedge of white with 
 distended eyes. With the last stone silenced she moved 
 again, venturing a step or two from the rock entrance. 
 
 Some distance above lay the road. And from where 
 Miss Cass stood she could hear the diminishing sound of 
 wheels of Don Pedro's carreta being driven away. In that 
 moment she apprehended his intentions. He did not wish 
 to leave the carreta in plain view near the point of the 
 murder on the contingency of passers-by. Even at that 
 hour it was conceivable that a chance arriero or travelling 
 merchant might be approaching the town. Wishing a lift 
 what more likely than that he should attempt to find the 
 driver, and so discover Don Pedro in the rocks and become 
 informed of his business there. 
 
 He lighted his cigarette and drove half a kilometre up 
 the road. Don Pedro walked behind the leisurely moving 
 animals, prodding them from time to time in the rump with 
 his stick. Reaching a sharp turn in the road he drove them 
 down the embankment into a small and mutilated wood of 
 cork and azinneiras trees. In the moonlight the shadows 
 of these almost verdureless branches offered scant pro- 
 tection against an alert eye. However, it was the best 
 shelter that the roadway offered. And the work which lay 
 before him was not one which would require a great length 
 of time. 
 
 Killing the Senorita Inglesa was not altogether a man's 
 job, since she was now like a lifeless bird and already in 
 his hand. The real problem was to bury her, but for this 
 he had come prepared. He removed a heavy spade from 
 the carreta, obliterated all mark of the wheels for some
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 187 
 
 distance back and then went on his way. He took the 
 precaution to walk on the grass, dry and close-crovped 
 from incessant grazing. 
 
 When he reached the cave he decided to light a candle. 
 The young woman was unarmed and even though conscious 
 was no match for him. He would place one hand over 
 her mouth and with his navaja make a swift gash in her 
 throat. He would tie her arms together and her limbs and 
 drag her to the entrance. Then he would dig a shallow 
 grave and place her in it beneath the rocks where he could 
 roll one of those above over the spot so that the scar in 
 the hillside would remain concealed. 
 
 As he reached the place he climbed down the rock. His 
 movements were agile though unhurried. He drew aside 
 the brushwood and inserted himself within the low opening. 
 Don Pedro's body was as supple as a ribbon. There he 
 lighted his candle, unsheathed his navaja and looked about 
 him. 
 
 His surprise was so great at finding the cavern unin- 
 habited that at first he thought a miracle had been com- 
 passed. Then his more practical judgment abjured any such 
 belief. She had escaped. In that case she could not be 
 far away. She had had no water since he had brought her 
 there and was still very weak. Don Pedro darted out into 
 the moonlight and stood scanning the hillside. He saw a 
 shadow not far off as if something crouching on the ground. 
 With a stiff smile curving his lips he made toward it. 
 
 Miss Cass had realised that any effort at escape must 
 be put into immediate execution. And so upon emerging 
 from the cave she had set off down the hillside. Her prog- 
 ress was slow. She felt that whatever chance she had de- 
 pended upon her keeping the contagion of fear in her brain 
 from spreading to her limbs. But fear had crippled her 
 until her knees were unable to answer her commands. She 
 staggered as though on wooden legs. She was like some 
 drunken thing set in motion and now moving from its own 
 momentum. She knew it was weakness more than fright.
 
 188 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 And without knowing it she prayed that her strength would 
 not desert her until she made cover. 
 
 The spot was still a long distance off, and even when 
 reached would offer only temporary safety. It consisted 
 of a group of thistles, so sparsely grown that one could 
 see between them, but which, nevertheless, cast a lean 
 shadow. Once or twice she stopped long enough to look 
 back. Don Pedro had not returned. He had remained 
 away a longer period than she had expected. And yet it 
 seemed to her only a matter of seconds since the distance 
 which separated her from the rocks was still inconsider- 
 able. 
 
 And then quite suddenly a curtain of black came before 
 her. She knew that weakness had conquered. She sank to 
 the ground. She could no longer see a foot before her. She 
 attempted to crawl away on her knees but the effort was 
 too great. She was aware of a whirling darkness behind 
 her eyes. She could see a mad circling of motes, glittering 
 like powdered steel. Then she was sunk in a warm hush. 
 
 After a moment the wave of weakness passed. But the 
 return came too late. She remembered where she was, her 
 plight and, turning, looked back. 
 
 Don Pedro was making his way nimbly over the face of 
 the rocks and disappeared through the opening. Intent 
 upon his business he had not seen her. Yet she remained 
 in complete view. In an instant he would be out of the 
 cave, would discover her and be in full pursuit. She 
 staggered to her feet. There was no use to look back now. 
 She must run even though he saw her. Even though he 
 overtook her she would still be running when felled to the 
 ground. 
 
 Her breath was sobbing. She was conscious of a func- 
 tioning hitherto unknown. Something rose and fell. As 
 it rose it seemed her heart turned over within her. And as 
 it fell a gag was removed from her throat. 
 
 The thistles were now close at hand. If she could only 
 reach them in safety. Two or three steps more. . . . She 
 threw herself down upon the ground in their shadow. Be-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 189 
 
 tween their stems she had a view of the distance just 
 traversed. 
 
 Don Pedro was standing in front of the rock entrance. 
 He was facing her. She wondered how long he had been 
 there. Had he seen her run to cover? She was not left 
 long in doubt. Still carrying the prod with which he urged 
 on his animals he came toward her moving with speed. 
 
 Two rocks lay in his path. In the past they had been 
 used by the gipsies to build a fire between them. The inter- 
 space was insufficient for a person to crawl into, but Don 
 Pedro stopped to prod this shadow, then came on. 
 
 The suspense she was suffering was intolerable. She 
 thought for a moment to pull herself up and face him. In- 
 stant death was preferable to this waiting for an end which 
 at best could be equivocated only a minute or more. And 
 then it occurred to her it might not be immediate death. 
 There might be carnal requirements wrung from her first, 
 and she remained where she was lying flat upon the grass, 
 attempting to efface herself still further. Her heart seemed 
 to be under the ground, beating up against her body. The 
 thud of it she felt was enough to shatter the universe. Her 
 face was concealed, her features pressed into the dust. 
 Each breath drew the odor of dried earth into her nostrils. 
 
 She waited. She could see nothing. But she heard 
 his step draw closer. 
 
 Within her thoughts were clamouring. Her brain shelt- 
 ered incoherent sound like a shell. . . . Would her re- 
 mains ever be found ? Would the truth come to light ? A 
 puerile fear of revealed religion invaded her. Was this the 
 eternal reckoning? 
 
 The footsteps had stopped. He was standing over her 
 now. How long must she retain that position while he 
 amused himself at her expense? Why did he not bury his 
 knife between her shoulders? 
 
 She dared not look up. Seconds passed. Her most poig- 
 nant feeling became one of exhaustion. A red ant crawled 
 on her face but she did not brush it off. She must move ! 
 . She decided to count a hundred first.
 
 1 9 o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Gradually she lifted her head. 
 
 She was alone. She looked about her. Don Pedro was 
 nowhere in sight. She had compressed herself into in- 
 credibly small space. He had drawn near, concluded she 
 could not be there, and continued his search in another di- 
 rection. But not knowing where he had gone she felt afraid 
 to make good her escape. 
 
 At length she concluded he had crossed the road above, 
 or else gone toward the cork wood which she could see 
 far away to her left. This decided her to continue down 
 the incline although she knew there was the chance that 
 she might be following him whichever direction she pursued. 
 She continued slowly, step by step, each moment her 
 amazement increasing at her miraculous release. The hill- 
 side became more oblique. Below she sighted a road. 
 
 She made toward it now, hurrying as best she could. 
 Nettles tore at her clothes and twice she fell. She rose 
 shaken and cut, but at such times her only thought was 
 of the noise. Any injury she might do herself was uncon- 
 sidered. Reaching the embankment which ran along the 
 side of the road, she hesitated. There were no shadows in 
 which it seemed credible anyone could be hiding. Belo\% 
 her was a ditch which followed the road, intended to carry 
 water but now covered with hardened mud and broken 
 with gaping fissures. Miss Cass lowered herself into the 
 ditch and then was at a loss to know what movement to 
 make next. It was a game of chess, only the pawn was 
 life. She wondered where the road led. There was no 
 sign of any hamlet or lights as far as she could see. Could 
 it be that this was only a lower loop of the upper road by 
 which Don Pedro had travelled. 
 
 She was afraid to continue along it in either direction. 
 Don Pedro would extend his desperate search. Finding that 
 she was not above he would make his way to this lower 
 level. According to which reasoning there seemed less 
 peril in remaining where she was. She had little idea of 
 time. She looked up at the disk of the moon, seemingly 
 immovable and the colour of honey. She calculated there
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 191 
 
 were yet three hours before it set. Three hours of undi- 
 minished light. 
 
 She seated herself on the edge of the ditch, at first cow- 
 ering. And then as time passed her fears diminished 
 somewhat and she relaxed, leaning against the embankment 
 behind her. 
 
 Not far away she could hear the chirp of a solitary cricket. 
 She was caught in a surge of recollections by the familiar 
 sound. She remembered the cricket orchestra which she, 
 with other undergraduates, had often heard on summer 
 evenings in Poughkeepsie within the grounds of Vassar. 
 And she was the same girl now waiting for her encounter, 
 on a deserted country road in the Sierra Morena. The 
 hiatus that separated her from past days could never be 
 bridged. 
 
 A half hour passed. . . . 
 
 And then suddenly she was aware of sound. At first 
 unable to analyse it she thought the ringing was in her 
 ears. And then she knew it was the jingle of bells down 
 the road. It was still at a distance. She crouched in the 
 shadow and waited. It was rapidly approaching like a 
 single motive of some great orchestration. 
 
 Then a turn in the road revealed a pair of mules with 
 collars of bells. They were harnessed to a cart with a 
 canvas covering, the whole enveloped in a moving cloud 
 of dust. A quantity of impulses tore at her for domination. 
 She thought to declare herself and ask to be taken to the 
 nearest town. And then she knew the danger of her appeal. 
 She was in that part of Sierra Morena where the traffic 
 of the bandolero received its yearly toll, and she felt an 
 instant reaction of all thought except an overwhelming in- 
 flux of fear. 
 
 The sound of the bells became louder. Veils of dust ap- 
 proached her in which she was shrouded. The mules were 
 abreast of her, passing, when a sudden inextinguishable hope 
 of escape assailed her. As the cart swept by she sprang 
 into the road. The dust was strangling. The mules' pace 
 now even, but her determination was not easily thwarted.
 
 i 9 2 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Whatever the risk, if she failed now she was without hope. 
 She managed to grip hold of the end of the cart. She at- 
 tempted to pull herself up onto it. She lost her footing. 
 But she did not let go, and then slowly, painfully, drew 
 herself up. 
 
 They were going faster now. She sat panting under the 
 canvas covering. The carretero, with his face muffled in his 
 shawl, was all unmindful of his fellow traveller. But the 
 interior of the cart held another occupant. On the husks 
 which covered it lay a heifer roped to the side. 
 
 She crawled in further, covering herself as best she 
 could with husks. Then she lay down. The bad going 
 made itself felt in a violent pitching, but she lay silent with 
 open eyes as they continued their rapid descent.
 
 XXII 
 
 SEFTON remained silent for several minutes after Don 
 Rodolfo ceased talking. He had been busily putting to- 
 gether those portions of the fellow's story which he believed 
 and supplementing them by what his own sense of reality 
 projected. Any inaccuracies of hypothesis meant the loss 
 of this one chance of finding her, and accordingly he wor- 
 ried that every premise remained reasonable. 
 
 Without the cantino the dusk approached. Before the 
 windows the ghostly eucalyptus continued its unbroken 
 whispering, turning its leaves, now grey, now mauve, now 
 vivid green. Within the room the cloth on the table before 
 them was crumpled, spread with particles of bread and 
 spotted with wine where Don Rodolfo's hand shook in 
 making the journey to his lips. His lids drooped heavily. 
 Even that portion of his brown body showing through his 
 rent shirt was distended. A complete satiety had descended 
 upon him in which his words lost much of their fire and 
 his mind its alertness. He continued sensuously to smoke, 
 his eyes glittering occasionally as they unsealed themselves 
 through a haze of cigarette fumes. 
 
 "How do you know the Senorita entered the wagon?" 
 Sefton asked abruptly. 
 
 Don Rodolfo looked at him with reproach. 
 
 "My brother, have I not thought of her disappearance a 
 thousand times myself! Mary most pure! The young 
 woman could not have hidden in a rat-hole, could she? 
 There was no hut, no place where she could seek shelter. 
 Don Pedro searched the rest of the night . . . and I most 
 of the next day." 
 
 "And you never found any trace of her?" 
 
 Don Rodolfo shook his head. His eyes blazed mo- 
 mentarily in emphatic denial.
 
 i 9 4 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "None." 
 
 "What is your explanation of what happened to her? 
 Do you think she is alive now ?" 
 
 "I have often asked myself that same question, Senor. 
 God of my soul, where can she be? It is three years . . . 
 and still no one knows." 
 
 That the man could be of no further use that day was 
 apparent. Unaccustomed food and wine had blanketed his 
 entire being in material comfort, from which he was not to 
 be routed by another's mental distress. His eyes were 
 closing in a stupor of wine. Nothing but Sefton's placing 
 his hand in his pocketbook could recall them to their sur- 
 roundings. This he did, paid the fellow the sum agreed 
 'to, and replied to his courtly "Adios." With the Spaniard 
 gone he remained for some time sunk in his entangled 
 thoughts. Later his host entered bearing a petroleum lamp 
 to ask if he would require anything more and he paid his 
 bill and left. 
 
 Next day he sought out Don Rodolfo once more. He 
 had slept for hours after his invigorating food ; had bathed, 
 shaved, and was wearing fresh linen, a new coat and gor- 
 rita. He looked amazingly younger and less sinister. He 
 saluted the American with his usual imperturbability, and to 
 all questions was not to be dissuaded from the story of the 
 day before. His account was so metriculously worded, so 
 artful a compound of desire to assist Sefton and injure his 
 co-conspirator, that Sefton at length gave up all thought of 
 upsetting it. 
 
 This decision made, he set out on a journey of several 
 weeks, that carried him through most of the nearby villages 
 he had already visited, where he had inquired if anyone 
 had seen the Senorita Ingle sa ... a beautiful young 
 woman, with fair skin and dark hair, and eyes unlike those 
 of a Spaniard, who had been missing for three years. . . . 
 In the market-place the townsmen gathered about him and 
 the housewives, with live chickens under their arms, lis- 
 tened to his questions. No one had seen her. 
 
 He traveled slowly, remaining long enough at each stop
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 195 
 
 to gain the confidence of cur a and alcalde of the village, 
 hoping with the church and law upon his side the silence 
 and superstition of its people might be lifted. One night, 
 arriving late at a town several kilometres distant, he made 
 his wants known at the small casa de hucspedes, which was 
 the only inn the town possessed. 
 
 He was met at the door by the rubicund proprietor, a 
 bright-eyed man, prosperous looking, a well-developed 
 paunch nicely fitted into his traje de fiesta and a heavy sil- 
 ver watch-chain drawn tight across his convexity. Grasp- 
 ing Sefton's hand, he announced his opportune arrival, 
 since his daughter had just that moment been married and 
 they were even then waiting to be seated at table. Sefton 
 refused courteously to join the ceremony, and after dining 
 alone was shown upstairs to the proprietor's own room, 
 there being no other available. He lay in bed, unable to 
 sleep, while the dancing and merrymaking continued down- 
 stairs, turning a thought over and over in his mind a 
 thought aroused by a chance remark of the inn-keeper. 
 Had Miss Cass sought safety in a convent? His host 
 had explained that the lights he had noticed on the hilltop 
 on his approach to the village were those of a strict and 
 cloistered order of nuns. But Helena would not have main- 
 tained continued seclusion, his common sense assured him, 
 and even had she thought to do so the American detec- 
 tives had not overlooked religious orders. 
 
 The dancing kept up all night, the music of guitars pluck- 
 ing fresh dissonances, strange Moorish lilts in minors that 
 stirred the blood. There were shouts of approval and 
 hand-clapping as an accompaniment to the castanets, as 
 young men and women spun around, while inequalities of 
 the floor quivered to the contact and the stamp of their 
 heels. There was light in the sky before their enthusiasm 
 was extinguished. 
 
 As he lay open-eyed in the inn-keeper's room he realised 
 he could not enter the convent or speak with the sisters. 
 He learnt next day that the order was a strict one, given 
 to contemplation and fasts. But, not being a detective with
 
 196 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 a warrant from the comisario de policia, nor a dig- 
 nitary of the Church, he could not obtain admission. Dur- 
 ing the afternoon he thought to ask the inn-keeper if there 
 was any man connected with the order. He learned to his 
 great interest that they employed a gardener who did the 
 heavy labour, a simple-witted fellow, who lived in a hut at 
 the edge of the garden, preparing his own meals, but com- 
 ing to the village once a month to make purchases for the 
 community. It was agreed that upon the fellow's next trip 
 Sefton should be summoned. 
 
 It was ten days later that this opportunity offered. Sef- 
 ton did not see the man at first, when his attention was 
 called to him in crossing the paseo on which the fonda 
 gave. The man matched the hillside as completely as a 
 grasshopper. He was wearing the sandals sometimes seen 
 on the agriculturalists and swine-herds of the country, and 
 clothes that had lost all distinguishing colour in perpetual 
 exposure, with a drab mania thrown over one shoulder. 
 He had brought to the village those commodities which the 
 convent yielded and had made such exchanges as were re- 
 quired, had stored his provisions in the small taranta with 
 which he would return up the hill at sundown. 
 
 The inn-keeper called to him with his unfailing geniality, 
 but, receiving no answer, placed his hand heavily on the 
 man's shoulder as he passed. Summoning him peremptorily 
 to a grape-arbour at the rear of the fonda, the poor crea- 
 ture followed obediently, as though accustomed to have his 
 own inclinations overruled. Here, as they seated them- 
 selves before the table, Sefton, at a sign from his host, 
 ordered wine to loosen the mute tongue of their victim. 
 After he had tasted his glass of home-brewed wine, Sefton 
 asked his first question: 
 
 Had he seen a foreign girl ... at the convent . . . three 
 years ago. 
 
 The man gave immediate denial. But the innkeeper 
 urged patience, as he moved with disrelish at this form of 
 witless amusement. After the second glass Sefton repeated 
 his question, and this time obtained no answer at all. His
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 197 
 
 good-natured host smiled encouragingly. What cloistral 
 information could be extracted from a man who scarcely 
 knew his own name, who obeyed only certain routine direc- 
 tions, as a dog will his master? 
 
 The rustic scrutinised him for a moment, a functionless 
 brain watching him out of dark-umber eyes, so shallow that 
 Sefton's thoughts struck bottom in them. He felt a mo- 
 ment's irritation that his hopes had been allowed to build 
 on the information of this clod. But, after several delibera- 
 tive moments, the simple creature scratched his head, and, 
 putting all perplexities aside, began to talk. Much that he 
 said was unintelligible to the novelist. Having spoken lit- 
 tle in years the timbre of his voice had changed like that 
 of a deaf person. And a partial vacuity seemed to have 
 accomplished what his hermit life had left undone. 
 
 The man was obviously old, in spite of a child-like ex- 
 pression, with a tanned, beardless face, not unlike an old 
 woman's. Many of his words were unknown except to 
 the native, but out of what the dull-witted fellow told there 
 grew a revelation which held his listener breathless.
 
 XXIII 
 
 Miss CASS was at the mercy of a man whom she had not 
 seen, but nothing which lay before her could equal the hor- 
 ror from which she had escaped. The canvas hood cover- 
 ing the top of the cart was drawn down between her and 
 the carretero. She could only judge the temper of the man 
 by the continuous anda, anda, andaah with which he urged 
 on his mules to greater speed. 
 
 Once, hearing something moving at her side, she put 
 out her hand and the heifer plaintively licked her fingers 
 with its rough tongue. She derived a curious comfort 
 from the caress and animal warmth. Her greatest need 
 was for water. Her lips were parched from the want of 
 it, her throat suffocated. This desire became the one 
 thought which agitated her, beyond which her mind was 
 lulled into total inefficacy. 
 
 Through the night she lay, scarcely moving, her eyes 
 watching the round opening in the canvas at the rear of 
 the jolting cart. She could see a circle of rocking skies, 
 where the constellations burned and then were shaken out 
 of sight ~by a turn in the road. The immensities of space 
 between them oppressed her. The indigo vault against 
 which they were displayed grew fainter. A mist of star 
 dust came between her and the heavens. 
 
 Miss Cass did not know if she had been asleep or if ex- 
 haustion drumming in her ears had claimed her to the ex- 
 clusion of all surface consciousness. Her lids fell wide 
 apart. She was still in the cart, but through the opening 
 in the canvas she saw the stars had gone and without was 
 darkness. And then she realised they were no longer in 
 motion. They had stopped on the roadside. There was 
 no sign of any village discoverable out of the uniform 
 gloom. 
 
 198
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 199 
 
 This was as good an opportunity as any that was likely 
 to arise for her r/3 leave the cart. She rose to her knees 
 throwing off the husks. Any movement was now audible 
 in the surrounding stillness. At that moment the carretero, 
 who had already seen to his mules, came to the opening in 
 the canvas and stood there holding an earthen jar filled 
 with water. Miss Cass cowered where she was. She saw 
 only a muffled silhouette that extended the jar to the 
 heifer, roped by her side. The animal struggled to its 
 knees and sucked audibly while switching its tail. When 
 the carretero decided roughly that it had had enough he 
 removed the jar, climbed back to his seat and with a shrill- 
 ing astdj asta mula, they were off. 
 
 In the darkness through which they were now whirling 
 she noticed the carretero 's blows became more frequent. He 
 exhorted the sluggish mules with an explosive vocabulary 
 to speed, but all his eloquence was failing of effect. She 
 calculated roughly that she had travelled over four hours 
 and in case she had slept perhaps longer. In less than an 
 hour it would be light. She would leave the cart before 
 then, depending on a moment when exhaustion had farther 
 diminished the animals' gait. 
 
 And so half an hour later she sat on the edge of the 
 cart waiting for the propitious moment in which to swing 
 herself off. She decided she was miles from any habita- 
 tion. The country composed of steep hills and an occa- 
 sional vega was not unfriendly. At length they came in 
 sight of fields of stubble where the grain had been harvested 
 and she knew she was near a hamlet. The mules' pace 
 was now slow. She lowered her feet gradually to the 
 road, ran along with the cart for a few paces and then let 
 
 go- 
 She was free. But with a freedom which she had not 
 the strength to put to any purpose. On her left the road 
 fell away to a depth in which the light was insufficient to 
 explore. On her right rose an embankment above which 
 she could see fields of hay cultivated on a hillside. She 
 climbed the embankment and, finding a hayrick, made her
 
 200 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 way toward it. Here she arranged a luxurious bed, shel- 
 tered from the east, and lay there in a semi-somnolence, 
 never completely oblivious to her surroundings, nor yet 
 thoroughly wakeful. 
 
 Struggling through the torpor came a succession of lance- 
 like pains, the demands of her body for food and refresh- 
 ment. She opened her eyes and saw the sun wheeling over- 
 head. It was drawing the heat from the bleaching fields. 
 And the fragrance of cut hay, which at another time would 
 have delighted her, now overpowered. Its sweetness was 
 choking. The breaths she drew savoured of scents that 
 nauseated in her weakness. 
 
 Later in the day she became aware of sounds on the 
 other side of the hayrick. At first she thought it was a 
 human being moving near at hand, and then as she listened 
 acutely she heard the periodical pulling at the loosened 
 hay and knew it was an animal. She crept forward several 
 feet until she sighted a goat with black and white pelt, 
 feeding at its leisure. At a distance she could see the rest 
 of the herd from which this one had strayed. As she 
 watched the animal turned, stood motionless without re- 
 volving its mouthful, watching her with lambent yellow 
 eyes. She spoke to it gently but it did not move. Then con- 
 cluding she was harmless it continued its cropping. 
 
 Miss Cass had noticed its swollen udder, and a feeling 
 of desperation told her this might be her only opportunity 
 of nourishment. She crept toward it on her knees until she 
 could stroke its hide. The goat shook its head as though 
 ill-accustomed to such effeminacies and she placed her 
 hands inexpertly against the teats. Very gently she pressed 
 them. A needle of milk shivered out. She repeated this 
 process with indifferent success, the goat seemingly sur- 
 veying her efforts with a mixture of patience and disgust. 
 Then she lowered her head under its body and rained flashes 
 of milk into her parched throat. The udder was still far 
 from depleted when the goat, tiring of her efforts, made 
 off and rejoined the herd. 
 
 She watched them from where she lay. Somewhere over
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 201 
 
 the hill, she knew, must be the hut of a peasant farmer. 
 Darkness she realised would be upon her within a couple 
 of hours. Therefore, if she were to reach shelter before 
 nightfall, she could not postpone her attempt any longer. 
 And so she set out, moving only a short distance at a time, 
 and then sinking down to rest until her heart quieted itself 
 and the glowing penumbra which came between her and 
 the light vaporised and was gone. 
 
 The sun had set and dusk was proceeding out of the folds 
 of the surrounding country to meet the darkness in the sky 
 when Miss Cass reached the crest of the hill. Below her 
 stretched a small, deserted vega and at its extremity rose 
 another hill. While she remained irresolute what to do 
 she saw the goat herder with his herd. She thought to cry 
 out and gain his attention. Country people who lived near 
 to the soil were always good-hearted, she reminded herself, 
 with reviving faith in mankind. Any possible distrust 
 which she might have felt in him was lessened as she saw 
 him reach the summit of the hill beyond. In a moment he 
 would disappear and she would be alone. 
 
 She attempted to call but the muscles of her throat con- 
 tracted. She could not liberate her voice. It was impris- 
 oned deep down within her. After prodigious striving she 
 raised a cry, but the result was a mere thread of sound. 
 Her eyes never left the herder, but he continued on his 
 way. She waved a small square of lawn above her head 
 and called several times. But he did not turn and a moment 
 later had begun the descent and was lost to view. 
 
 There was now no choice but for her to explore the vega. 
 She continued until the darkness made further progress im- 
 possible. In the tangle of brushwood she prepared herself 
 a rough bed and lay down. At first the intense discom- 
 fiture withheld all thought of sleep, then a distorted fear, and 
 then hunger. But at length exhaustion overcame them all 
 and she was lost. She awakened twice during the night 
 startled by noises near at hand which proved to be the sound 
 of prowling nature. She lay without moving, looking up 
 at the stars. For moments she wondered if her fear was
 
 202 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 of mankind or the supernatural. She seemed utterly alone 
 and yet face to face with God. No matter how she cowered 
 it seemed to her she was visible. The aloneness beneath 
 those immensities was crushing. 
 
 Later when she awakened coldness was the only sensa- 
 tion. She felt chilled to the bone, her muscles stiff, her 
 hair wet. Her head ached and she was too weak to rouse 
 herself to her misery. 
 
 She opened her eyes. It was early morning and she was 
 lying on a hillside grown with furze, wild fennel and 
 brushwood. As she raised herself on her elbow she could 
 see no sign of human habitation. She could hear small 
 staitled sounds in the fennel about her, and diminutive 
 scamperings which she supposed were field mice. Her 
 hands were soiled with broken nails; her clothes smeared 
 with moisture and filth. The hazards of past hours de- 
 voured her to the exclusion of her present needs. She lay 
 still for some time and then realising that she could not re- 
 main where she was, she exerted her will to rise. As she 
 did so she noticed beyond the wilderness of brushwood 
 which separated her, the profile of a building at a great 
 height which stood against the morning sky. It was built 
 of stone and of considerable size though dwarfed by dis- 
 tance and weathered until it had lost its salient colours ex- 
 cept for a tiled roof and long green shutters. The building 
 was surrounded by a high wall on two sides, its own outer 
 wall forming a part of the enclosure on the third. She could 
 see that a road, rough, little used with deep ruts cut in the 
 hillside, made its way there. Miss Cass decided after a 
 moment of indecision to attempt to gain its refuge. She 
 was aware of a warning of incipient illness, nauseous, insis- 
 tent, which called for immediate rest. 
 
 It was a labourious ascent, and several times she wavered 
 in her purpose and sat down, doubting if her strength would 
 hold out. The building rose above chestnuts, oaks and 
 plane trees, and the surrounding country possessed none of 
 the more haggard aspects which she associated with the 
 Spanish compaiia. Her brain clamouring to know where
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 203 
 
 she was, wondered if she had been transported a great 
 distance. Below her ran the road by which she had trav- 
 elled, although in which direction she was she could not 
 surmise. Then she rose once more. 
 
 She knew she had done well in selecting this building 
 in the hope of relief, instead of trusting to the charity 
 of any chance traveller on the highroad. As she drew 
 nearer she noted its cleanliness and order. The green door 
 and scoured stone step before it ; where there was cleanli- 
 ness, she argued, there was intelligence, and intelligence and 
 kindliness she believed were never far apart. She swayed, 
 gripped hold of a young sapling whilst the hillside moved 
 in strange convolutions and she could find no stationary 
 ground on which to place her foot. Her vexation increased 
 at what she knew to be only weakness. She waited for it 
 to pass and then proceeded. 
 
 The wall of the building was pierced by several windows 
 looking toward the East, but most of them, she surmised, 
 gave upon a garden. The tops of orange and citron trees 
 rose above the wall and she had a glimpse of grape vines 
 and creepers trained on parr as and a cultivation of waU- 
 fruit. 
 
 A feeling of excitement now mastered her. She recog- 
 nised that only a few minutes of consciousness were left. 
 No one had watched her toiling progress up to these heights 
 to whom she could now signal in distress. There was prob- 
 able help if she could reach the green door before being 
 overcome. The struggle brought a cold sweat to her brow. 
 Her breathing was animal ; respiratory poundings were suf- 
 focating. The green door had seemed very near for almost 
 five minutes and still it eluded her. 
 
 Waves of faintness broke against Miss Cass. Her nails 
 were dug into the palms of her grimy hands. She sank to 
 her knees crawling the last steps. The door was before 
 her. She remained a tumbled heap, waiting for reviving 
 strength so that she might reach the bell. It was her last 
 struggle. As though in answer to a prayer her hand caught 
 it, pulled vigorously and then let go.
 
 XXIV 
 
 THERE were moments of awful doubt before Helena 
 heard steps. Then the green door was unbolted, a key 
 thrust into the lock, and it opened. 
 
 The portress of the convent, a large, shapeless woman, 
 middle-aged, with weak eyes which squinted through steel 
 spectacles, stood on the lintel regarding Miss Cass with 
 amazement. 
 
 "As you love God," Helena said, "have mercy on me." 
 
 But the words were spoken in English, and her mind, 
 lost in enveloping faintness, was unable to prompt any 
 words the portress could understand. She had made her 
 struggle, but further lucidity was denied her, and, as she 
 faced the spectacled eyes, her effort to recall some word of 
 Spanish that would explain her predicament was defeated. 
 Her knees went out from under her and she slipped at 
 the portress's feet, like a bundle of old clothes, into a pro- 
 found unconsciousness. The stranger was carried to the 
 infirmary, and placed under the care of the infirmarian, a 
 sister not totally without experience. 
 
 The infirmary was a large hexagonal room with five long 
 windows giving onto the well-ordered convent garden. On 
 her pallet-bed the distressed young woman lay, watched 
 alternately by the superior of the convent, the novice mis- 
 tress and the infirmarian. The portress was instructed to 
 give no information concerning the stranger to the other 
 sisters, for the prioress, who was herself stern, incurious 
 and inflexible, did not wish that any good act within the 
 order should be turned to speculation and curiosity. 
 
 But although each of the three inspected the patient, who 
 watched them with open, staring eyes, Miss Cass knew them 
 not, and her speech was always in a foreign tongue. The 
 infirmarian, Sister Celestina, moved about her bed in felt 
 
 204
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 205 
 
 slippers, and, although a large and powerfully built woman, 
 her step was silence itself. The windows were kept open 
 that the thyme-scented air might cool the feverish face. 
 
 After several days had passed and the patient's tempera- 
 ture remained high, Sister Celestina suggested that medical 
 aid be called, but the prioress, after another examination, 
 concluded this unnecessary. That the young woman was 
 very ill she saw, but she believed in her recovery and or- 
 dered that prayers be said in her behalf. 
 
 Miss Cass, hanging between life and death, cried aloud 
 wildly that she was being pursued, torn from her room and 
 was to be buried alive. During the hour of meditation her 
 voice rang out, convulsed, strangled, a cry of such chilling 
 terror that the good sisters shivered at prayer. 
 
 "Don't let him bury me! Don't let him bury me!" she 
 cried. "I'm alive ! I'm still alive." 
 
 She would grasp Sister Celestina's arm with force and 
 try to be lifted from her bed which she fancied was her 
 grave closing in on her. And then worn down to exhaustion 
 the fluttering heart would quiet itself and she would slip 
 once more into oblivion. 
 
 Later she would be roused to speak quietly. 
 
 "I know it's wrong," she would say, "but my secret will 
 be safe when the train has passed over me. I'll be safe 
 with God." And she would smile. 
 
 "Let no one fear God who does not fear the world." 
 
 And there were long conversations in which Sister Celes- 
 tina was called "Jordan." At such times she told him that 
 she loved him but begged him to go away. And at others, 
 she would declare that she would endure it. With a brow 
 beaded with sweat and fever-dilated eyes, she would sit up 
 in bed and defy the crowd to stone her to death and her 
 father to deny her his house. . . . 
 
 The basin of soup that was brought to her she drank 
 greedily. And following her violence came days of coma 
 in which Sister Celestina became more apprehensive. But 
 at length the fever lifted and for weeks her time was de- 
 voted to long restful hours of sleep, after which she wak-
 
 206 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ened to a benumbed condition which was not yet conscious- 
 ness, but its borderland. 
 
 At such times Sister Celestina sat by the bedside busy 
 with her lace-making when her strong lean fingers were 
 not feeling the polished wooden beads and silver cross 
 of her rosary. The convent had many years before shelt- 
 ered a prioress who had entertained a vision, and this 
 saint had lived in a part of the convent most of which had 
 been restored, and from which new wings had been thrown 
 out. The old rooms, however, had been retained where pos- 
 sible and were known as the Santa Casa ; the infirmary was 
 a new wing which abutted them and had little connection 
 with the rest of the building. 
 
 It was the day of the Ascension and the mass for its 
 celebrating was being said in the chapel. Sister Celestina 
 was occupied at her devotions alone with her patient when 
 Miss Cass moved suddenly and sat up in bed. 
 
 "Where am I ?" she asked in Spanish. 
 
 "This is the Order of the Sisters of the Adoration." * 
 
 Miss Cass remained silent a moment, attempting to piece 
 together a number of divergent recollections. Then she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "I was able to reach the bell?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And the green door was opened?" 
 
 "Yes, and you were carried in here." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "I am Sister Celestina, the infirmarian. I don't think you 
 had better ask any more questions." 
 
 "But I must. How long have I been here?" 
 
 "Several weeks." 
 
 "But why have the leaves all fallen in the garden?" 
 
 "This is winter." 
 
 "Winter !" 
 
 Helena pronounced the word blankly, without meaning. 
 
 Sister Celestina returned to the bedside with a fresh 
 
 * The writer substitutes "The Sisters of the Adoration in place 
 of the correct name of this order.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 207 
 
 bowl of soup and insisted upon feeding her. Each time 
 her lips formed a question a spoonful of hot soup silenced 
 them and the determined sister signalised an intention to 
 ignore further colloquy. 
 
 A thought cataclysmal in its results had formed in her 
 brain while the placid sister continued to press spoonfuls 
 of hot liquid upon her. She swallowed them merely because 
 it was simpler than arguing that she did not want it. 
 
 "May I see a mirror?" she at length requested. 
 
 "There are none here." 
 
 "No mirrors ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But one's hair?" 
 
 "That's very simply cared for," the sister said with a 
 happy smile, as though it were the greatest joke in the 
 world. "And the scapular covers it." 
 
 "You haven't cut mine off ?" 
 
 Helena's hands flew to her head in terror and she grasped 
 her thick coil with reassurance. She had considered her 
 heavy black hair her one claim to beauty. 
 
 "Do I look very badly, Sister Celestina? Be honest, tell 
 me just how I look." 
 
 "You're very pale." 
 
 "But am I a fright ?" 
 
 "You have been ill. That anyone can see. But you will 
 have a complete recovery." 
 
 "I'm a fright. I knew it." 
 
 She turned her head petulantly toward the wall and the 
 thought of her recovery no longer filled her with hope. She 
 longed to see Jordan and yet, great as she felt her need for 
 him, she could not risk seeing the expression of his eyes 
 change and be aware of his discomposure. He was a man 
 and the masculine mind would not be expected to penetrate 
 far below the envelope. It would be useless, she felt, to 
 affirm that she was the same person he had loved if her 
 identity had forsaken the rounded cheek and clear eye. 
 And if Jordan ceased to love her, what then ? 
 
 There was only one person in the world whose affection
 
 208 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 would never waver, with whom there could be no breach. 
 She would wire for her mother first and later, when she 
 felt equal to making the effort, she would send for Mr. 
 Buel and see if her ill-conditioned appearance was sufficient 
 to alienate his love. But for the present she had not the 
 strength and inclination to face the ordeal. Much as she 
 loved him she was afraid. Life lay before her and she 
 must play her cards wisely. 
 
 She was lying with the sheet and coverlet drawn up to 
 her chin when she shuddered as the shock of her condi- 
 tion smote her. Her secret was apparent now, she realised, 
 as she lay with terror-stricken eyes and parted lips. 
 
 Here in the orderly life of the convent the good sister 
 who succoured her knew. The prioress knew. Her crimin- 
 ality was exposed to the casual eye. During the months of 
 her illness the dread had convicted her, and now she was a 
 creature of contamination, retained, cared for as a proof of 
 Christian piety. She closed her eyes to shut out the dis- 
 figurement of her approaching motherhood. She lay silent, 
 thinking. This last discovery was her undoing. And she 
 had thought the moment before of the comfort which her 
 mother could extend. She was denied that. She must re- 
 main there alone, in hiding, a pariah alike to these holy 
 women within and to the secular mind without. 
 
 Her brain travelled wearily back over the horror of the 
 days when she had her first intimation in Madrid. Even 
 while she carried the hidden dread with her day and night, 
 she knew it was without substance. Then gradually had 
 come the awful confirmation, even while she attempted to 
 deny to herself the evidence which was already corrobo- 
 rated. Those weeks resolved themselves into a long night- 
 mare of heat, dust and unrelieved movement. They were 
 vivid and yet unreal, like the suffering of a patient under- 
 going ether. She remembered her mother's insistent desire 
 to visit galleries and dissect Goyas. But art had no mean- 
 ing to her then. Of the crowds they passed and repassed 
 in the Parque de Madrid, when as occasionally she saw a 
 woman facing her parenthood walking slowly between rela-
 
 209 
 
 tives she wondered how she dared reveal her culpability. 
 
 She had broken away from Mrs. Cass whenever occa- 
 sion permitted for long purposeful walks. But each day 
 she asked herself how long would it be possible for her to 
 continue her life casually, undetected and without resource. 
 What was to become of her? Should she kill herself? 
 What instrumentality could free her from her position . . . 
 There were certain mileposts in her life, certain fundamen- 
 tals which must not be uprooted. The first was that her 
 mother must never know. Beyond that her plans lost 
 themselves in a welter of inconclusion. 
 
 On these days of undiminished heat, when her thoughts 
 far outstripped her lagging gait, a consecution of ugly plans 
 kept pace with her. Her position was untenable. No ex- 
 planation of a state of feeling could excuse a young woman 
 for the absence of "niceness." And it was that of which 
 she stood convicted. She did not blink the facts. She was 
 not "nice." 
 
 But if she killed herself would she put a successful end 
 to her situation? She knew she was caught. And she 
 knew death was the only way out. But even while she 
 planned her extinction she realised that it raised other diffi- 
 culties. Her death must bear none of the outward signs 
 of suicide or it would defeat its own end. It must appear 
 unpremeditated, accidental. Nor was it merely to convince 
 a world of curiosity seekers, since it must convince her own 
 mother as well. And following Mrs. Cass's arrival on the 
 Continent she knew she had been under the closest observa- 
 tion. It made the suppression of her moods the more diffi- 
 cult. It taxed her powers of dissimulation to compare 
 Velasquez and Carrenos with her mother whilst all the time 
 her mind was groping for the means of self-destruction. 
 She decided at length to appear to be overcome by heat and 
 fall from the platform in front of an oncoming train. 
 
 When this plan was abandoned it was not because of 
 cowardice but because she realised the extent of her 
 mother's love. Her loss would be a greater affliction than she 
 had the right to visit upon Mrs. Cass and Annis. Which
 
 210 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 meant that all her craftiness must be quickened to some 
 greater ingenuity. 
 
 A feeling of nausea, mental as well as physical, haunted 
 her thoughts. For food she had already acquired a dis- 
 taste. Sleep had deserted her. The mere thought of it 
 had become a mirage. She longed for sleep as a man lost 
 in the desert longs for water. It taunted her at night 
 when her nerves were whipped to an even greater activity 
 than during the day. She attempted to drug herself with 
 the books her mother read, which only filled her with irri- 
 tation. They were unreal. There was not one moment of 
 life in their unrelaxed decorum which bore a resemblance 
 to anything living. . . . 
 
 Days were passing! 
 
 What was she to do? 
 
 Her feelings vacillated between panic and despair. Life 
 had ceased to be an optional matter. The havoc her condi- 
 tion had wrought had now brought her down to the depth? 
 of self-devastation. She was terror-stricken. She was out 
 on her own. There was no responsibility that could be 
 shifted, no condonernent which could heal. 
 
 She despised herself. She was loose. A creature with- 
 out moral fibre, lacking the strength to face her own cor- 
 ruption. Her hatred was directed against the distorted and 
 ill-regulated self she had once respected. She hated the 
 spiritual self that had crumpled up and the physical self 
 that was weak and in constant tumult. And she hated the 
 odorous world of heat and noise and persistent flies from 
 which she was able to grasp only moments of broken sleep. 
 
 And then, when her despondency was at its lowest level, 
 the delicate equilibrium of her brain, which under pressure 
 had lost its poise, now found its own adjustment. The 
 cowardliness of her intended act came flooding back to her, 
 as she lay on her bed in her suite at the de la Paz in Ma- 
 drid. After all the law she had transgressed was one of 
 man's and not one of nature's. Her love for Buel was a 
 sacred and holy thing, not something that required suicide 
 or the connivance of the criminally inclined. Her love and
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 211 
 
 Jordan's was enduring, and if in her violence he had been 
 absent from her thoughts it was merely because desperation 
 was of a necessity a personal matter. 
 
 This awakening of an obligation of self stiffened her 
 determination to remain true to her act. If necessity de- 
 manded that she face the opprobrium of the world unaided 
 she decided she had the courage to do it. And with this 
 resolution following her disrupted days, there came grad- 
 ual peace, physical as well as mental. 
 
 And so from Madrid she had written Jordan of her 
 secret. He should overtake them, and, Gibraltar being 
 British soil, they would be married there, in spite of her 
 mother's objections andwithout revealing the reasons for 
 its compulsion. In the meantime no plan could be more apt 
 than that which carried her and Mrs. Cass to Fuente la 
 Higuera. The sketching and out-of-door life would re- 
 store the lustre to her eyes, bring her sleep, and, living in 
 amity with the universe, would keep her thoughts from 
 centering upon herself. On the other hand, if the moun- 
 tain town proved uninhabitable, they would move on to 
 Cordoba and send for Buel there. In any case, it was 
 wisest not to tell him their destination until Fuente la 
 Higuera had been investigated. . . . 
 
 Lying there, she thought of these plans and projects, 
 the constant renovation which her brain had attempted in 
 the past all brought to nothing. . . . 
 
 In the convent she thought of the plans, and the micro- 
 scopic tragedy of existence compressed into that fortnight 
 of misery. The tireless constructions of her brain, plan- 
 ning exigencies each night and all for what ? . . . Nothing 
 could legitimatise her act now. She was clear-visioned 
 enough to realise that she could never see her father 
 again. . . . Her fever, which had begun to abate, re- 
 turned. . . . 
 
 The next day, however, the prioress sent word that if 
 the patient could write to parents or friends of her where- 
 abouts that she would see it was taken to the nearest village 
 and sent. Miss Cass understood this covert allusion to her
 
 212 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 removal by those responsible for her, now that her health 
 was on the mend. It left her no alternative but informing 
 her mother. She deliberated some time and then decided to 
 send it to Morgan, Harjes et Cie., in the Boulevard Hauss- 
 mann, who were her mother's bankers. 
 
 Her letter was a brief statement to which the prioress 
 appended the address of the convent with instructions how 
 to reach it. This was despatched by the gardener. 
 
 Once the letter was on its way and there was no chance 
 of recalling it, Miss Cass regretted her hastiness. She had 
 once felt that under no conditions could she apprise her 
 mother of the truth. But now that she was about to do so 
 she realised the enormity of her conduct. To Mrs. Cass, 
 upright, unflinching, following fifty years of undeviating 
 morality, there could be no explaining a laxity that appeared 
 monstrous and perverse. 
 
 Her time was given over to equal parts of anticipation 
 and worry. She wondered if her mother had relinquished 
 the search and returned to America, but decided it was not 
 among the probabilities while she remained unfound. She 
 called for a time-table of trains, which the good sisters could 
 not supply. She realised that if her mother was in Paris 
 and the letter was delivered to her on the afternoon two 
 days later, she would leave by the night train. In that case 
 Mrs. Cass would be due within twenty-four hours provided 
 a train arrived according to schedule. 
 
 Miss Cass slept little that second night. She lay silent 
 in the dark with open eyes. The total absence of light in 
 the infirmary could not conceal to her her own distended 
 outline. It was a realisation from which, even for the frac- 
 tion of a minute, there was no escape. She lay waiting for 
 the first peal of the bell which would galvanize the sister- 
 hood and send them about their diurnal duties. She 
 watched the light of the heavens against the frame of 
 windows turn lighter, lighter. . . . 
 
 When her questions during the day became too insistent 
 the Reverend Mother came and sat beside her bed. She 
 explained that it was impossible to expect any letters to
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 213 
 
 be delivered with such promptness as Miss Cass had evi- 
 dently expected. But Helena thought vexatiously that if 
 the train was on time her mother must be approaching 
 Madrid. The half hour devoted to eating was lost be- 
 cause Sister Celestina persisted in talking and she forgot 
 the time and was unable to keep Mrs. Cass in her relative 
 place on her journey. She wished Sister Celestina would 
 not try so desperately to cheer her. She felt she could not 
 endure her continuous optimism much longer. Why was the 
 good creature's mouth perpetually ajar? 
 
 The wintry sunlight in the garden vanished. The dusk 
 had begun to extinguish all light. Miss Cass's worries in- 
 creased. She wondered if the superior's direction had been 
 explicit so that her mother could not go astray. And were 
 there always conveyances at the village by which one could 
 be conducted at any hour to the Convent of the Adoration ? 
 She wished Sister Celestina to go to the window which 
 gave on the vega below. From that vantage point in the 
 Santa Casa one could see the road for several kilometres 
 and tell if there was any vehicle in sight. 
 
 The infirmarian returned in a few moments only to shake 
 her head. 
 
 "You cannot hear from your mother," she said, "in less 
 than several days, perhaps a week at the earliest. And the 
 chances are it will be longer. You are working up a fever 
 with this excitement which will only prolong your recovery. 
 Now put the thought out of your mind and have your sup- 
 per." 
 
 The night that settled about the convent was tense, im- 
 ponderable. Its density was not broken by a single light 
 beyond the convent walls. Helena ate her meal obediently 
 and with humbleness. And when vespers sounded her lips 
 moved in prayer. 
 
 It was a quarter of an hour later that she heard the 
 Reverend Mother's step in the passage. She sat up swiftly, 
 her eyes questioning, her hands locked together. In the 
 candlelight the Prioress looked at her startled, for in her 
 expectancy her face seemed curiously exalted. In mat-
 
 214 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ters of religion the young woman might be sceptical but of 
 the human relationship she seemed to possess unbounded 
 faith. 
 
 "I wish you to remain quite quiet, my daughter. There is 
 no call for any excitement. There is someone here who re- 
 ceived your letter and has come in answer to it." 
 
 She took a step back into the darkened passage and 
 beckoned to a wraith. Helena saw a secular outline of 
 hat, veil and furs framed in the doorway.
 
 XXV 
 
 "On, my dear, my dear! . . ." was all that Mrs. Cass 
 could exclaim, as they continued locked in each other's em- 
 brace. 
 
 After the first blessed moment of her nearness had been 
 spent, Helena whispered with her face buried in her 
 mother's bosom: 
 
 "Mumsy ... I knew . . . you'd come." 
 
 "Naturally you knew that, my dear." 
 
 "But it's so good to see you. And there have been times 
 when I never supposed I would see you again, or anyone 
 else, for the matter of that." 
 
 "We won't talk about those times." 
 
 "How did you get here so quickly?" 
 
 "I took the first train." 
 
 "You mean you were ready?" 
 
 "Yes. The banks had closed, but I kept a certain amount 
 on hand for an emergency, just in case there was a clue and 
 no time to spare." 
 
 "In your heart, don't you wish me dead ?" 
 
 "Helena!" 
 
 "It's all right. She doesn't understand a word of Eng- 
 lish." 
 
 Miss Cass indicated Sister Celestina, who had with- 
 drawn to the end of the long room that their dialogue 
 might remain undistured. The Prioress's discretional 
 promptings had led her to leave the infirmary altogether, 
 though neither was aware of her withdrawal. 
 
 In the candlelight Miss Cass studied her mother's face. 
 Absence had sharpened her sight, and she saw the cheek 
 bones of the outline before her were more prominent than 
 usual, the shadows beneath the bright eyes more tired. The 
 hat and furs she wore had been purchased with that fine 
 
 215
 
 216 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 unfailing ignorance or disregard for what became her. 
 There was defiance and service in every line of her ill- 
 fitting apparel. Miss Cass loved the irrelevancy of her 
 mother's appearance. She was silent a moment preparing 
 herself for the breach, then she said bluntly: 
 
 "The one thing you must realise about me, mother, you 
 have purposely ignored. Say whatever you think. . . . 
 Don't look at me with pity. I want to know if to you 
 I am everlastingly damned." 
 
 "There's nothing to say, my darling. Only I know you 
 have suffered." 
 
 "And that's all?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And it doesn't make any difference?" 
 
 "Not in my love for you." 
 
 "Oh, mumsy." 
 
 "Don't, dear. . . ." 
 
 Mrs. Cass attempted to stem the paroxysm which shook 
 the occupant of the cot as Helena bowed her head and 
 wept. 
 
 "I can't help it. I wanted to kill myself. I intended to 
 rather than have you know." 
 
 "And is that all the faith you had in mother?" 
 
 "But you're so good ... I thought you couldn't under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Goodness never kept anyone from understanding. If 
 you'd only told me, dear. . . ." 
 
 "You don't despise me utterly?" 
 
 "Let us be practical. Ask the sister if I may spend the 
 night here and what preparations they can make for me. 
 Then you must go to sleep if you want to see me in the 
 morning." 
 
 Miss Cass felt herself once more a naughty child seeking 
 solace at her mother's knee. Nothing, seemingly, could 
 rob this extraordinary woman of her fund of sympathy 
 and the infection of her reasonableness and common sense. 
 After the arrangements had been translated to Mrs. Cass 
 and she was led away by Sister Celestina, Helena lay
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 217 
 
 thinking of the past half hour of rapture. She knew sleep 
 was not possible following such rewards, but a strange 
 quietude possessed her, and when she opened her eyes it 
 was to see her mother seated beside her breakfast tray. 
 
 The periods allowed them together were few and brief, 
 but they formed beneficent interludes in days devoted to 
 the upbuilding of a wasted constitution. Whilst Miss Cass's 
 condition was as much mental as physical, her response was 
 not as hearty as had been hoped. It was a week before she 
 was once more up and about and Helena knew it would be 
 still another before she could be taken away. 
 
 One afternoon they were seated by the open windows, 
 Miss Cass wrapped in a heavy blanket against the cold, 
 when she exclaimed suddenly: 
 
 "Virtue has its egotism, and so has sin. There isn't a 
 moment of the day when I am not conscious of . . . " She 
 failed to name the word. "That is why I want you to talk 
 about me, and what lies ahead. I thought several times 
 to write something just a word or a line to warn you, but 
 I couldn't. There is only one thought in your mind now, 
 mother, and only one in my own. Tell me what you felt 
 when you saw me and for the first time knew the 
 truth. . . ." 
 
 "Later, dear, when you're stronger, I will tell you." 
 
 "No, mumsy, now." 
 
 "Very well, dear." 
 
 She slipped her cold, dry hand in her daughter's slightly 
 feverish moist one. 
 
 "I was not surprised as I had been warned." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 "Jordan." 
 
 "He told you?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass nodded her head in silent confirmation. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Immediately after your letter came I communicated with 
 him. I told him I was coming here. And as he knew we
 
 2i 8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 would be together again in a few hours he told me, for the 
 first time, what you had written from Madrid." 
 
 "You left him in Paris?" 
 
 "No. He's at the village." 
 
 "Jordan is here in Spain?" 
 
 "Of course. We made the trip together. He comes up 
 to the convent every evening to hear how you are. He and 
 I take a short turn outside the walls, and I repeat what 
 you have said and tell him how you look." 
 
 "Then you don't object to him any more?" 
 
 "I don't object to anything that can bring you happiness, 
 dear. All I want is that you should forget everything which 
 has passed." 
 
 For some time they sat with clasped hands, silent, then 
 Miss Cass voiced her thought. 
 
 "Jordan must be miserably lonely. * 
 
 "He is not alone. Roscoe is with him." 
 
 "Roscoe?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Roscoe came all the way from New York?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass nodded. 
 
 "You mean he's given up his business?" 
 
 "Temporarily. He's made finding you his business." 
 
 Again they were silent. But Miss Cass was unable to 
 stem the questions which came automatically to her lips. 
 
 "When can I see Jordan?" she asked with pleading. 
 
 "The day you leave the convent." 
 
 "And when will that be?" 
 
 "It depends entirely upon you." 
 
 "Since you've planned everything I suppose you have 
 some plan for my future?" 
 
 "I have. But we won't discuss it until you are stronger. 
 Here comes Sister Celestina with some nice-looking broth 
 for you. Tell her she can take my chair." 
 
 When the morning of her departure came Miss Cass 
 was dressed in the garments her mother had supplied her. 
 Her costume completed, she was wrapped in a long drapery 
 thrown over one shoulder in deceptive folds. Her appear-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 219 
 
 ance was somewhat oracular as she bade the Reverend 
 Mother good-bye and the stout, near-sighted portress 
 opened the green door, allowing her eternal egress to the 
 world. 
 
 Mrs. Cass took her arm and they began their descent. At 
 a turn in the road before them she explained that Roscoe 
 and Mr. Buel were awaiting them with a carriage. Since 
 her mother had supplied her with a mirror she had been 
 only slightly reassured by its use. She now wondered 
 what Mr. Buel would say, and if his eyes would belie his 
 words after he had seen her. They made the turn and in a 
 moment she confronted him. 
 
 "Nell!" 
 
 The mixture of surprise and pleasure on his face was 
 so genuine as to be comic. There was nothing subtle about 
 her lover, she averred, as he took her gently in his arms. 
 But his kisses she had been so long denied were more life- 
 giving than she remembered. She flushed in answer, aware 
 of witnesses. He had not changed. She was conscious of 
 the first faint masculine nearness, the flavour of tobacco 
 that seemed even to have permeated his hair. At the sight 
 of her he had pulled off his cap and the boyish gesture 
 which revealed its thick darkness made her feel a desire 
 she had often experienced before, to run her fingers 
 through it. 
 
 "It's really you, dearest," he exclaimed. "And you know 
 how I've worried?" 
 
 "Have you, dear?" 
 
 "Do you doubt it?" 
 
 "Not if you say so." 
 
 And then he kissed her again and this time all Her 
 scruples were quieted. Delighted as she was, Miss Cass, 
 nevertheless, was not a little surprised to see that Mr. Buel 
 was looking as well as upon their last encounter. She 
 had her mother's word that he had worried but his alarm 
 had not made itself physically evident. He was wearing a 
 loose cheviot travelling coat, in which the bulk of him
 
 220 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 seemed to have increased, his colour grown more pro- 
 nounced, his eyes brighter. 
 
 "You're the same old Nell." 
 
 "Oh, no, I'm not," she said quickly. 
 
 Mr. Buel released her as her eyes fastened on Roscoe 
 with less confidence. She felt very unsure of her tall, 
 controlled, matured young brother as he watched her, a 
 personality seemingly without need of words. He put out 
 a strong, lean hand and then permitted her kiss as though 
 in doubt how to accept it. 
 
 "It's all right now, sis," he said quietly. "Everything's 
 going O.K. from now on. I'll see to that." 
 
 He assisted her and Mrs. Cass into the carriage and drove 
 the animals, with conscious pride, briskly in silence. Helena 
 had looked forward to the present moment for emotional 
 replenishment and was aware of the disappointment of an 
 anti-climax now it had been enacted. 
 
 Aboard the train that was carrying her from Spanish 
 soil she and Mr. Buel were seated beside the window. She 
 promptly discarded hat and veil within the stateroom of 
 the wagon-lit. Her shrouded appearance had apparently 
 caused no interest at the station and in the train her 
 anonymity remained undisturbed.
 
 XXVI 
 
 SEFTON'S mind was spinning. While the ignorant fellow 
 continued his story he attempted to disentangle and explain 
 the various moves and strategies. He did not dare inter- 
 rupt Hipolito's narrative. Nor did he urge more wine upon 
 him, fearing to blur an articulation no longer distinct. 
 Instead, he sat motionless in the little grape-arbour, living 
 over the experience which the dull fellow's words rein- 
 spirited in the glowing light and dappled shadows before 
 his eyes. 
 
 "She has been at the convent, but she left with her 
 mother, brother and fiance? Let me make sure that I un- 
 derstand you perfectly?" 
 
 "Yes, Senor." 
 
 "How long ago did she leave?" 
 
 Hipolito thrust his hair out of his eyes and then shifted 
 in his chair. The question was obviously a difficult one for 
 him to answer. The passage of time moved unrecorded 
 in his muddled brain, the difference of season registering 
 itself only as the time for planting melons and cucumbers, 
 and the time for picking grapes and storing grain and oil. 
 This recalled that it was still winter when the senorita left. 
 Upon Sefton's pressing him for his reason, he admitted 
 that the ground had not yet been made ready for the spring 
 planting. But when urged to tell the year Hipolito was 
 completely at a loss. It was not the past winter ; of that he 
 was quite sure. But if it was the preceding or the one be- 
 fore that he could not be definite. 
 
 "Let there be no misunderstanding as to the principal 
 factors of your story, my brother. The young lady arrived 
 at the convent during the eighth month of the year?" 
 
 The fellow acquiesced. 
 
 "She remained about five months?" 
 
 221
 
 222 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 He thought so. 
 
 "It was accordingly in January that her mother came 
 to her? Am I right?" 
 
 Hipolito was no longer sure. He seemed suddenly c,on- 
 fused. Assaulted by the memory of what had actually 
 taken place, his speech ceased to be lucid. Questions the 
 more reiterated and the more simply phrased caused him 
 increasing embarrassment. 
 
 "Between friends," Sefton continued, "there is no need 
 of weighing each word so carefully. Speak out, brother. 
 Be frank with me." 
 
 With an easy gesture he extended his cigarette-case in an 
 attempt to bridge the dullard's consciousness of the inequal- 
 ities which separated them. But this act, intended to pro- 
 voke a spirit of camaraderie, was without any such effect. 
 Hipolito attempted to clean his hands by friction against 
 his soiled corduroy trousers before selecting one of the 
 white cylinders. Then, as the light glittered on the metal 
 and he saw the case was gold, he muttered aloud : 
 
 "Holy Virgin" 
 
 Instead he loosened the /a/a he wore, removed tobacco 
 from it and adroitly rolled a cigarette himself and began 
 to smoke it. He took off his broad-brimmed hat and 
 scratched his dull head. Sefton noticed the grey in his 
 hair grew irregularly in patches out of the thick black 
 thatch. 
 
 "You are not sure that it was in January that the sefiorita 
 left," the novelist persisted. 
 
 Hipolito looked up at him appealingly under his heavy 
 brows. His was the troubled expression of an animal at 
 having words used unknown to its simple vocabulary. 
 
 "Excelentisimo," he said, "I do not know." 
 
 "If not January precisely, we at least know it was about 
 then, don't we? Are you sure the convent has since been 
 in communication with the sefiorita?" 
 
 "I do not know, your excellency." 
 
 "Have you never spoken of her to anyone?" 
 
 "No."
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 223 
 
 "And you have never seen her again?" 
 
 The fellow was silent a moment and then shook his head. 
 Sefton was aware that this taciturn mood was something 
 more than dullness. Hipolito had evidently decided to say 
 no more, and no amount of baiting would lure his unwary 
 tongue into further admissions. But, in spite of his disin- 
 clination to talk, certain incontrovertible facts remained, 
 which even later disavowals could not altogether disturb. 
 Momentarily flushed and excited by wine, the man had 
 been induced to say things which when dead sober he would 
 refute. He realised now he had told matters which if 
 known in the Convent of the Adoration might lead to his 
 permanent dismissal. At the thought he was like a child 
 threatened with expulsion from an institution for the de- 
 fective. The convent garden was home to the broken mech- 
 anism of his brain, and the idea that he should ever be 
 debarred from it filled him with formless terrors, the more 
 to be feared because unknown. 
 
 Sefton at once had recourse to wine as the only means 
 of refiring the fellow's loquacity. He therefore filled his 
 glass with the home brew from the earthen botijo. The 
 wine was heavy and when held to the light its colour not 
 clear. It was made of the juice of grapes that were thrown 
 into the vat to which honey and lime were added. The 
 posadero had protested against offering Hipolito anything 
 better, insisting that his coarse palate was unable to distin- 
 guish the more delicate savours. Sefton found on tasting 
 it that it was not as unpleasant as one might suppose, from 
 its absence of refining, even while far removed from the 
 wines of the great bodegas of Spain. 
 
 Now, as he placed the filled tumbler before the gardener, 
 hoping to dislodge the obstacle to speech, the hapless fellow 
 shook his head. 
 
 "Muchas gracias," he said, lifting his hand to indicate 
 that he would have no more. 
 
 What had come over the dullard, Sefton asked himself, 
 to account for this determination? It was not that wine 
 had ceased to be a temptation. No, Hipolito had decided
 
 224 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 to be uninforming, and for a moment they remained si- 
 lent, each returning the regard of the other. Then the 
 fellow dropped his eyes. The man's incapacities were 
 apparent enough, and the automatism which guided his sim- 
 ple actions, but Sefton was unable to control them. The 
 novelist's elation at a part of the narrative was evidently 
 to be short-lived, and yet in spite of the fellow's unsound- 
 ness he was confident that he knew where Miss Cass had 
 gone. An incalculable knowledge had made itself felt by 
 his words which all his denials could not recapture. This 
 gardener knew everything! 
 
 He would begin with gentleness, since threats were in- 
 expedient, but if this method was unsuccessful he would 
 use force. So he planned, as moving his chair nearer and 
 bending over the table, he continued: 
 
 "The senorita left the convent a year or so ago, and you 
 have never seen her since, Hipolito. Did I understand you 
 to say that?" 
 
 With a cry like a distressed animal, Hipolito flung out 
 of the arbour and was gone. Sefton was quick to move. 
 He ran after him, but, turning the angle of the inn, he 
 found the man had disappeared. He continued across the 
 paseo, but there was no one visible except a young mother 
 seated in a doorway brushing her child's hair. Had she 
 seen a man run by? At first she did not understand the 
 question. By the time he had explained that it was Hipo- 
 lito, the gardener and carter he sought, she agreed he had 
 passed, although she had not noticed which direction he 
 had taken. 
 
 When he reached the outskirts of the town he discovered 
 the fellow was gone. Standing in the roadway he could see 
 far ahead a taranta continuing up the hillside. The mule 
 was being belaboured and shouted at. The man was al- 
 ready too far off to be overtaken, and as he watched the 
 fellow drew up before the convent gate. 
 
 Sefton returned to the town, baffled, disheartened, feel- 
 ing that he had robbed himself of his best chance of ob- 
 taining news of Helena. Reentering the grape-arbour, he
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 225 
 
 discovered the manta which Hipolito wore over his shoul- 
 der. He had evidently forgotten it in his haste. Picking 
 it up, it seemed to excrete earthly odors and animal as 
 well. It was probably on occasion used as a mule blanket. 
 He reported the incident to the inn-keeper, who assured 
 him that the fellow would return for it directly he was 
 aware of his loss, and when he did the senor should obtain 
 civil answers to his questions. But with nightfall Hipolito 
 did not return. 
 
 His host, always ready with explanations, insisted that 
 the gardener had not discovered the loss of his blanket yet. 
 The following day he declared that the fellow was kept hard 
 at work at the convent and would not be allowed time to 
 come to the village until nightfall. Accordingly Sefton 
 waited for him. Undeceived by the gardener's plight, the 
 novelist knew he possessed the entire story of Helena, or 
 otherwise he would not be frightened by what he had told. 
 He had said too much without, however, telling her present 
 hiding-place, if she was still alive. This last motive was 
 the more sobering. He tried again and again to pierce 
 that disorganized brain; fresh tentatives suggested his go- 
 ing to the convent and were put down for a more logical 
 plan. 
 
 The inn-keeper continued to urge that nothing short of 
 life or death would decide the simple gardener to relinquish 
 his blanket. But when a second and a third day passed 
 without the man's being heard from, he admitted he was 
 puzzled. But Sefton remained undeceived. He waited un- 
 til the fourth day, then, as the man did not return, he left 
 abruptly for Paris.
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 XXVII 
 
 UPON arrival, Jay Sefton went first to the American 
 Ambassador. But it was from his secretary he learned 
 that Monsieur Georges Durand was no longer in the diplo- 
 matic service but at the moment living in France and a 
 member of the Jockey Club. He addressed a note to him at 
 le Jockey, asking for a rendezvous, but it was not until a 
 week later that he obtained a reply. It appeared that Mon- 
 sieur Durand was out of touch with his club and^only occa- 
 sionally despatched a messenger there for his letters, since 
 he had been posted as in arrears. 
 
 The letter, while written on club paper, gave a number 
 in the Rue Taitbout as his own address, and there at the 
 hour appointed Mr. Sefton was driven. The number was 
 at the top of the street in the direction of St. Lazare. He 
 verified the address by the concierge, who directed him 
 across a court and he ascended two flights of steep, dark 
 stairs, and found himself facing a door painted a bright 
 ultramarine, to which had been affixed a brass knocker. 
 Sefton hesitated a moment, restrained a smile while making 
 mental annotation that "Durand was a lightweight." 
 
 The door was opened promptly in answer to his sum- 
 mons by Monsieur Durand himself, wearing a dressing- 
 gown of wine-coloured brocade with a broad sash and red 
 morocco slippers. He apologized for the absence of his man, 
 and Sefton was led within a diminutive flat that appeared 
 too small for master and valet to inhabit simultaneously. 
 They passed through a compressed library that was so dark 
 as to be lighted day and night by electricity and entered a 
 small sitting-room. This was furnished with pretentious 
 
 226
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 227 
 
 Louis Quatorze reproductions and enlivened with a quan- 
 tity of silver-framed photographs of ladies of the bean 
 monde and several fashionable modaines. His host indi- 
 cated a chair for him near the window, happily of tinted 
 glass, as a means to interdict an uninspired view. Sefton 
 seated himself while the Frenchman was busied with a 
 brew of tea. 
 
 "You are surprised at my persistence in asking to see 
 you," he began. "But I have in my pocket your statement 
 in a French paper made a year after Miss Cass disap- 
 peared." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "That is what I want to ask you about. Will you tell 
 me just where you saw her and exactly what happened?" 
 
 Monsieur Durand eyed him for a moment in silence, as 
 though debating how much he would tell. Beneath vague 
 eyes stood wedges of loose flesh, and the eyes themselves 
 had the lack-lustre stare of long-continued irregularities. 
 It was obvious that Monsieur Durand had once been "beau 
 garqon" of the Boulevards, but his face now seemed more 
 like that of a pretty woman turned passe, which massage 
 had robbed of every expression, leaving only a record of 
 sleepless nights and want of exercise. 
 
 Sefton had been puzzled by the memory of having seen 
 this face before without being able to place it. Now the 
 incident fixed itself in his memory. Monsieur Durand 
 was the companion of the lady who had passed him on 
 Fifth Avenue in an open motor last fall, whom he had the 
 hardihood to follow through a fancied resemblance to 
 Helena Cass. 
 
 The Frenchman poured tea from a steaming silver urn 
 into two tumblers of clouded amber glass. "Russian style," 
 he remarked simply, as he slipped an elliptic of lemon 
 pierced with a clove into each and passed cigarettes scented 
 with verbena. Mr. Sefton took a couple of puffs at the 
 nauseous mess and then allowed it to go out. Monsieur 
 Durand had during the interval of tea preparation decided 
 to be frank, and now remarked with his recurring smile
 
 228 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 that he would tell all he knew. He spoke a colourless, 
 painstaking English, laboriously manufactured, embel- 
 lishing his experience with all that detail, the necessary 
 decor of an acknowledged raconteur. 
 
 Sefton had already obtained information about the 
 Frenchman from other sources. Georges Durand's parents 
 were provincial from the south and he, as a younger man, 
 upon coming to Paris, had made influential friends in the 
 fashionable world through an aptitude for the social 
 graces. But, although an acceptable fourth at bridge, an 
 intelligent critic for a "private view," and especially apt 
 companion at the opening of an atelier of modes, still he 
 was scarcely a parti for matrimony. Monsieur Durand 
 had no money of his own nor any prospects. He could live 
 without a perceptible margin off the returns of his calling, 
 but even these were precarious as approaching thirty he 
 was found to be without a future. He had entered the 
 diplomatic corps, been sent to Washington, and had re- 
 turned greatly disheartened, unable to contract an American 
 match of a desirable kind. To-day he was left in the ig- 
 nominious position of "looking around." Helpful friends 
 suggested that he was made of the material of a successful 
 motor-car salesman. They held that his acquaintance, his 
 well-cut clothes and his general empressement would argue 
 in his favour in pressing sales of the newest de luxe cars 
 on the rich ladies of the half-world and the newer million- 
 aires of trade. Others fancied his being a club secretary, 
 but they were both dismal occupations, and in the meantime 
 he was losing faith in himself. It would not have con- 
 cerned him to owe money to his tailor; that was a gentle- 
 man's privilege, but to be posted at the club savoured of 
 desperate straights. 
 
 When he brought his account to an end, he looked at his 
 visitor for approbation. Sef ton's eyes were fastened upon 
 the large emerald that glowed sullenly. in his tie and he 
 made no immediate comment. It was not until they had 
 reviewed the incident and Monsieur Durand had given all 
 the facts, together with such suppositions as occurred to
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 229 
 
 him, that his visitor rose. Monsieur Durand's avis was 
 neither of considerable extent nor of great acuteness. His 
 mentality covered a wide surface, but was of thin outlay. 
 
 "Should you hear of Miss Cass again in any way, you 
 will perhaps let me know?" 
 
 Monsieur Durand was on his feet now. 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 He led his visitor through the lighted library and then 
 paused before the door of the flat. His own appearance 
 with an enlargement of himself astride a hunter, on the 
 wall behind him, in impeccable hunting clothes, surrounded 
 by the hound's of Chevy Chase, was a compromise between 
 luxury and something less than the necessities, wherein he 
 lived. 
 
 "I have heard of the reward that her father has offered, 
 and if anything that I tell you helps in her recovery I shall, 
 of course, feel that I am deserving of my share of it." 
 
 "No doubt." 
 
 Monsieur Durand now opened the door, and his visitor 
 made his way down the stairs, striding across the court. He 
 summoned a cab with directions to drive to the Etoile, 
 where he drew up at i bis Avenue Kleber. He gave his 
 card to the valet-de-pied and requested to see the Marquis 
 de Lanel. After waiting for several minutes he was led up 
 a flight of stairs to the salon. An artful assembling of 
 flowers in wedgwood vases were disposed upon consols. 
 The size of the salon was lessened by being faintly scented 
 with an essence intimate, suggestive, not of natural flowers. 
 
 He had already grown restive when a lady entered. His 
 first impression was of a blondness recently emphasized 
 that had been achieved with rather less skill than is usually 
 attributed to the French coiffeur. She had evidently given 
 up a struggle with pale brows and had them boldly dyed. 
 The effect of black half crescents above her eyes was ar- 
 resting, but threw the remaining colouring of her face out 
 of scale. The effect would probably be pleasant enough 
 in the interplay of half-light, but in the present surround- 
 ings she seemed an over-vivid stencil.
 
 230 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "You will forgive my intruding," she said, speaking with 
 a slight accent which pervaded her speech when she made 
 use of English. "My husband isn't here, but when Fran- 
 c.ois brought up your card, I couldn't resist the magic of 
 your name. You see even in Paris we have read 'Unex- 
 posed.' " 
 
 She smiled at his boyish flush, pleased by his very ap- 
 parent discomfort. This was a sight that one saw so 
 rarely that certain promptings were gratified by its splendid 
 youthfulness. 
 
 "I am Madame de Lanel," she added. 
 
 He bowed, then she continued : 
 
 "Aren't you going to murmur that national formula of 
 all Americans about being pleased to meet me?" 
 
 "I wilfully refrained. I thought it might annoy you." 
 
 "Why should you? Of course you know I'm an Ameri- 
 can. I don't see why people think I'm a foreigner. Do 
 you? My constantly being mistaken for one annoys me 
 so. Our customs are so dear and quaint and I love them 
 everyone, even blueberry pie, and . . . and what does one 
 call them? Oh, yes, doughnuts. Sometimes I've thought 
 of giving up my title if Tristram were willing, but of course 
 that isn't really what makes me seem foreign, is it? It's 
 having a Continental mind." 
 
 She had seated herself on a sofa with her back to the 
 light and after these assertions of her nationality she in- 
 quired the cause of his present visit to Paris. He replied 
 abruptly that he had come to see the Marquis de Lanel to 
 inquire about Miss Cass, since he knew of their statement 
 of having seen her. At the mere mention of her name all 
 the woman's reluctances were over-borne. He felt rising 
 about them the turgid waters of curiosity. There was a 
 rapacity in her eyes, hard, glittering, the love of news of 
 every sort, even disaster, besides which hunger became a 
 faint subsidiary passion. He lowered his gaze for a mo- 
 ment as a means of veiling his own dislike of her, which in 
 that moment was active. 
 
 "Poor Helena," she murmured. "You knew her?"
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 231 
 
 He bowed. 
 
 "What an experience. I did all that I could for her 
 before her first disappearance if I may term it that way. 
 Of course you knew she was visiting me?" 
 
 Again he agreed. 
 
 "I wrote to her mother several notes of condolence, but 
 she never answered any of them. I don't think she under- 
 stood her daughter. I couldn't write her the second time; 
 instead I placed a statement in the paper. I felt that was 
 the most I could do. I really could not overcome a very 
 natural pride in not addressing Mrs. Cass again." 
 
 Out of a flood of reminiscences she checked further 
 words. 
 
 "Why don't you dine with us to-night and after dinner 
 my husband and I will tell you everything. I must be 
 excused now. My doctor insists that I lie down every 
 day. My nerves aren't very strong," she said plaintively. 
 "I find I have more enthusiasm than strength. Dinner 
 at 8:30." 
 
 Jay Sefton felt the annoyance of being exploited for a 
 purpose, when returning that evening he discovered the 
 Lanels were entertaining. As he entered the salon Madame 
 de Lanel detached herself from a vivacious group to ap- 
 proach with an extended left hand. She was wearing 
 petunia satin and all her emeralds. The lights had been 
 attuned to her complexion and in their dimness she looked 
 not unattractive. 
 
 "I had forgotten I was giving a dinner to-night when 
 I asked you," she said. 
 
 "It doesn't make the least difference in the world. Of 
 course I shan't stay, but I can see you some other time, 
 can't I?" 
 
 She laid a hand loaded with rings upon his arm before 
 he could take a step toward the door. 
 
 "You can't leave me this way. I've invited a very 
 charming partner just for you," she added shrewdly. "My 
 dinner-table is nicely balanced now and I shan't allow you
 
 232 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 to upset it. In Paris you know one introduces. I want 
 you to meet all of the most charming women here." 
 
 He knew that Madame de Lanel had not forgotten her 
 dinner. On the contrary, her only reason for coming 
 downstairs that afternoon had been because of an eleventh- 
 hour refusal, and an author would be something of a 
 novelty for her table and quite the easiest way of obtain- 
 ing a single man. In fact, now that she had him well in 
 hand, she gave up all pretence of continuing this amiable 
 fiction. He found himself with little sympathy for the 
 strategies of the perpetual hostess. 
 
 Seated on Madame de Lanel's left his other neighbour 
 proved to be an American lady married to a Frenchman 
 of historic name whose likeness was given to adorning the 
 New York press. He looked across the heaped epergne in 
 the centre of the table, to his host. Monsieur de Lanel was 
 still delicate-looking, still withdrawn as though his little 
 ironies with the world were never poignant enough to need 
 expression. His wife was a ready subject for his silent 
 criticisms, Sefton thought^ since she had cultivated an 
 imperfect English in order to give the impression of speak- 
 ing more accurately in the French idiom. 
 
 When the ladies withdrew he selected a chair near Mon- 
 sieur de Lanel and cornered him for a moment. He told 
 of his visit that afternoon and of the Marquise's promise 
 to tell him of their encounter with Miss Cass. He asked 
 "him to name an hour when he might hear of their meeting. 
 At first Monsieur de Lanel refused to make any such prom- 
 ise. He had not seen that young lady since she left his 
 roof. But as Sefton persevered and the Marquis failed 
 to dissemble the fact, he at length agreed to see him in 
 his cabinet-de-travail at three next day. 
 
 Sefton walked home to his hotel that night. Spring was 
 in the air, mild, luscious, promising. He had noticed a ten- 
 der thread of colour during the day had appeared over- 
 head in the chestnuts, piping each branch with an almost 
 bitter green. Gardeners were busy filling parterres at the 
 Tuileries and the Round Point of the Ely see with tulips
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 233; 
 
 that were already unfurling their colours. The Alcazar 
 d'fite, the Marigny and the other music halls along the 
 Avenue were preparing for open-air audiences, and the 
 Boulevards were no longer rilled with shut-motors. The 
 depression of winter was over and in his heart he was 
 conscious of an encouraging hope that had no basis for ex- 
 istence, and yet could not be eradicated. 
 
 He found Monsieur de Lanel waiting for him next day 
 in his cabinet-de-travail when he was announced. H was 
 led within and the door closed after him. Seated behind 
 an empire desk surmounted by a great dossier, he surveyed 
 his visitor in the surroundings of the pleasant, book-lined 
 room. To all questions he was indefinite, slightly apolo- 
 getic and always vague. Yes, Edith had made certain ill- 
 advised statements. Ladies were hasty. He did not concur 
 with what she had written. He was distinctly uncertain of 
 the young woman being Miss Cass. 
 
 At the end of half an hour he realised the futility of 
 attempting to press Monsieur de Lanel further. He rose, 
 they shook hands, and he took his leave. A footman was 
 summoned to conduct him to the door. As he descended 
 the stairs, the valet-de-pied spoke: 
 
 "Madame la Marquise wishes to see monsieur before he 
 goes. She is waiting for him downstairs." 
 
 "At present?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." 
 
 The door of the petit salon was opened. 
 
 Madame de Lanel was standing before a commode of 
 tulipwood cuivre, surmounted by a bust of Diane de Poi- 
 tiers, with a great Beauvais tapestry behind making a mel- 
 low background to her fairness. She was wearing black, 
 and, as she stood with her back to the light, he could not 
 see if the ornaments she wore were some preposterous 
 dressmaker's decoration or historic sapphires in the great 
 breast-piece which glittered through her lace. 
 
 "I asked to have you stop a moment," she said, speaking 
 as though their meeting was a conspiracy, "because I felt 
 there were details Tristram might overlook which would
 
 234 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 be helpful to you. You need not tell him so, however. 
 It might seem to him disloyal. . . . He's very delicate on 
 certain points, and the whole affair is genant and has dis- 
 tressed him, naturally." 
 
 Her eyes were like agate as she spoke. And there was 
 a subdued excitement in her manner. She led him to two 
 chairs and they seated themselves. As she began to speak 
 his mind wandered, for hers was not a personality to claim 
 one's attention. He heard her words through a mist of 
 perfume of lilacs d'altesse that clouded his sight, while the 
 outline of the real woman etched itself indelibly upon his 
 consciousness. 
 
 A strange, complex person, of abortive tenderness and 
 sterile sympathy. A creature given to the constant rehand- 
 ling of that bric-a-brac which she was pleased to call her 
 "emotions." In a moment he had guessed her secret. She 
 loved her husband with a devotion consuming, neurotic. 
 Affection with her was something which did not invigorate, 
 but strangled. Hers was the love which the ivy feels for 
 the tree it rots, closing in upon it, keeping out the light; 
 an egotism strong, fiberous, interwoven like a tumor, want- 
 ing to be a part of its life, its health, its very organism. 
 But her passion was unable to give expression to itself in 
 any of the kindlier forms which would have affected him. 
 
 Instead she was very gently thwarted. She was jealous 
 of his every attention and her torment revealed itself in 
 icy silence in which she felt unable to compete with the 
 delicate point of his more scholarly and fluent French. In 
 any exchange of words she was at the disadvantage of 
 speaking a foreign language, whereas his speech was al- 
 ways a model of form, courteous, subtle, idiomatic. She 
 was jealous of his interests of which she was ignorant, 
 of his erudition which she could not follow. She was dis- 
 appointed in being childless and distressed by her gradually 
 slacking appearance. She suffered through days of de- 
 pression in which she realised that in spite of her money 
 she was commonplace. Fear at finding her golden hair had 
 lost its lustre had precipitated her into the mistake of
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 235 
 
 having it recoloured, and since the result had left her fea- 
 tureless she had assumed different brows. She made 
 constant trips to the dressmakers, and had hysterics at the 
 results. The beaute du diable she craved sometimes made 
 her look accessible, and the simplicity she admired accen- 
 tuated her weaker points. She endured days of tumult and 
 nights without sleep. 
 
 Sefton found himself engrossed, like some specialist, at 
 this pathologic display, as loops of her strange involved 
 disposition were unwound before him all unconsciously. 
 He had applied an X-ray to her soul and every aspect 
 was bared. She was morbid with nerves that clamoured 
 for some natural outlet which they were denied. Under 
 prey of such imaginings she encouraged curious phantasma. 
 She became totally unreasoning, of uncontrolled speech and 
 sinister motives. At other times, her inner organism in 
 ferment, she attempted to quiet between periods of fear 
 and depression by futile extravagance, incontinent quarrel- 
 ing and objectless travel. 
 
 Much that she said was perilously near the truth, but 
 coming from her lips wilfully distorted and misshapen. He 
 was amazed by her acuteness and her inability to overcome 
 her own condition. If pressed to give a reason, she would 
 have found it impossible to tell the motive of her hostility 
 to Miss Cass. She would have denied being anything but 
 her friend, and succeeded partially in convincing herself of 
 her own sincerity. 
 
 To-day, under cover of friendliness she gave rein to her 
 suppositions. Leaning forward in her chair, a satin slip- 
 per extended from under the black folds of the Point d' Ar- 
 ras, she was attempting to give whatever was left of the 
 unfortunate girl one final push with her pointed toe. He 
 listened, perplexed by her understanding, confounded by 
 her keenness, even while he refused all audible comment.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Miss CASS watched Mr. Buel as he extended himself 
 between the two seats, his rather indolent length expressing 
 complete physical relaxation. And yet, in spite of his 
 apathy, Miss Cass was aware he was not perfectly at his 
 ease. She divined that .he was afraid of retributive meas- 
 ures since she had made no mention of what had taken 
 place and what still remained before her. She knew he 
 blamed himself, that in his somewhat bludgeoning way he 
 was contrite and thoroughly penitent. 
 
 "I am following like a lamb," she said at length. "Mother 
 hasn't told me yet where I am going. She said she would 
 let you tell me." 
 
 "We're on our way to France." 
 
 "Paris?" 
 
 "No. We thought a small place out of season better. 
 Biarritz. I happen to know of a quiet hotel. No one will 
 be there now and mother says rest is the one thing you 
 need. How is that?" 
 
 "I am content." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "May I smoke?" 
 
 "Don't be formal." 
 
 "Nell," he said, extending his hand, after neither had 
 spoken for several minutes. 
 
 "Yes, Jordan," she answered quietly. She permitted 
 hers to lie within his own. 
 
 "Do you love me at all?" 
 
 "Isn't that rather an undeserved question?" 
 
 She saw the colour mount to his head in apoplectic 
 currents but did not relent. 
 
 "I mean do you still love me?" he asked. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 236
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 237 
 
 "I should suppose you'd hate me. You've taken it won- 
 derfully." 
 
 "No, I haven't. But the one thing I am utterly ashamed 
 of now is my weakness in not daring to stand by my act. 
 That feeling is over. I don't know if this is inherent 
 strength or merely nature's obligation, but I love and am 
 going to fight for my motherhood." 
 
 "Sweetheart, you're too glorious for me." 
 
 Mr. Buel was piqued that the young woman beside him, 
 whom he had once held in his arms, should now seem re- 
 mote, unreal. She had not once asked him a question or 
 named marriage as an eventuality. 
 
 He told her that he wished to marry at once, although 
 he realised marriage in France was complicated, public 
 and required time. He had suggested running to England 
 but Mrs. Cass wished her daughter to have two or three 
 weeks' rest before making the trip. By that time, if suf- 
 ficiently mended, they were to go to some corner of North- 
 umberland or Scotland for the ceremony. After which 
 they would remain in some outskirt of Torquay for the 
 birth. In the meantime Mrs. Cass and Roscoe would return 
 home, admit Miss Cass was found and was on her wed- 
 ding trip along the Riviera. Two years later they would 
 turn up in New York, merely claiming the child was six 
 months younger than he was. 
 
 "What do you think of the plan?" 
 
 "I am willing to do anything so he won't suffer through 
 me." Then she added, plaintively: "I don't know why 
 I persist in saying 'he.' " 
 
 "I do," Mr. Buel answered boisterously. 
 
 His arms were around her and Helena melted into his 
 embrace. It was a moment of transfusion of something 
 closer than ideas. For in his embrace all the smaller feel- 
 ings of resentment, uncertainty, feeble flashes of irony, 
 were stilled by the strange elation that claimed her once 
 more his own, with the same definiteness as in the early 
 days. His lips had a power of reuniting which his words 
 failed to ratify.
 
 238 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Biarritz proved over populous with English and Ameri- 
 can visitors, thus rendering Miss Cass's security doubtful. 
 Accordingly she and her mother were lodged at Bayonne, 
 three miles distant, in pleasant though modest quarters in a 
 quaint old hotel in the Rue Thiers. They had their meals 
 served in their common sitting-room and on the registry 
 were disguised as Mrs. Dion Tilden and her daughter, Mrs. 
 Palmer of London. 
 
 For the first time Miss Cass realised what strict pre- 
 cautions must be taken to withhold her identity, as she 
 was allowed to hear the extent to which her disappearance 
 had been proclaimed. Buel and Roscoe, living openly at 
 the Palais under their own names, made the trip once a 
 day to Bayonne from Biarritz in Buel's car. On the out- 
 skirts of the town Mrs. Cass and her daughter met them 
 and Roscoe yielded his place to Helena. At an appointed 
 hour the four returned, Miss Cass and her mother going 
 back to the Rue Thiers and Jordan Buel, with Roscoe be- 
 side him, drove his car along the Grand Plage to the Hotel 
 du Palais. 
 
 Buel, who knew Biarritz from previous visits, was fa- 
 miliar with the country for miles and their trips through 
 outlying villages and long agricultural stretches were a de- 
 light to Helena. One afternoon at dusk they visited the 
 race course at La Barre, and another day they attempted 
 San Sebastian, but turned back, as she found the sun too 
 tiring after they had crossed the Spanish frontier. In 
 this way the two weeks passed swiftly, and Helena Cass 
 gained under the healing influence of hours spent out of 
 doors and plans for a contented future. 
 
 It was on an evening following Mrs. Cass's decision to 
 remain a third week that a severe storm swept the coast. 
 The wind rose ; all night the blast continued, the tide rising 
 to great heights. In the morning visitors even ventured 
 along the cliffs to see it frothing over the stone wall, 
 whilst the rain continued to fall like a drawing down from 
 heaven of unbroken yards of tulle. At noon the wind less- 
 ened and an hour later the rain ceased abruptly. Notwith-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 239 
 
 standing the bad going, Mr. Buel drove his car as usual to 
 Bayonne. 
 
 "Why not go to Biarritz ?" he suggested to Helena. "This 
 will be your one opportunity of seeing the town without 
 being seen yourself. Everyone is within doors. The coun- 
 try roads are out of the question to-day. We'll only be 
 gone half an hour and I will show you what the storm has 
 done to the beach and the bathing pavilion." 
 
 Miss Cass, who had at first refused, at length relented. 
 With her newly found circumspection she drew down a 
 motoring veil before he handed her into the car. They 
 sped over dark shining pavements, under a continuous rush 
 of water. Everywhere were broken trees, shattered glass 
 and loosened tiles. The demoralisation of the storm was 
 evident on all sides. 
 
 As they turned from the Rue de France into the Avenue 
 du Palais Miss Cass noticed that the streets were deserted 
 except of their native element, the guests of the hotels 
 not venturing out into the water but remaining spec- 
 tators from enclosed verandahs. Mr. Buel drove the 
 car in the direction of the lighthouse. And then halted it 
 on a deserted stretch where their view of the ocean was 
 uninterrupted. 
 
 Miss Cass exclaimed as she saw the pitch of the beach 
 which sloped down to the blackened waves each onslaught 
 carrying away more of the sand. Far out the ocean was 
 pluming itself like a mating bird. The roar was intense. 
 The tide boomed over the rocks beyond, sending up geysers 
 of spray. The water looked curiously solid like fields of 
 green and black marble that was being shattered to atoms 
 by intense explosions from beneath. Mr. Buel watched 
 Helena as she sat beside him, her veil lifted, her attention 
 never once diverted from the tumult before them. 
 
 "Watch this one," she said, gripping his arm. 
 
 A monumental comber detached itself from its fellows, 
 rearing to an even greater height with a suction that drew 
 up sand, discolouring it to an angry black. 
 
 Buel ran the car to the lighthouse and returned, stopping
 
 240 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 once more for a last look. They were still watching en- 
 grossed when Helena exclaimed with horror: 
 
 "Look. . . . It's a human being." 
 
 They were silent, intent. On the crest of a wave they 
 could see something dark, moving. As the wave broke 
 falling prone on the beach, they saw long streamers of 
 dishevelled seaweed writhing. 
 
 Miss Cass laughed. 
 
 "It was terribly realistic for a moment. It looked like 
 loosened hair." 
 
 In their absorption they had not noticed the approach 
 of an open car driven by a man who glanced at them with 
 interest as he passed. The water beneath his wheels 
 splashed their car in fan-like formation. 
 
 Miss Cass's face underwent a change. 
 
 "I know that man," she said bluntly. 
 
 "The man who just passed?" 
 
 "Yes. I can't recall his name. I don't suppose he really 
 saw me. He's a Frenchman, who was attached to the em- 
 bassy at Washington. Can you see by the mirror on the 
 car if he is looking this way?" 
 
 Mr. Buel slipped down in his seat and looked in the 
 mirror. 
 
 "Yes. He's turning back." 
 
 "Then drive on." 
 
 The car sprang forward. 
 
 "Not too fast," Miss Cass cautioned. "It will look sus- 
 picious. What is he doing now ?" 
 
 "He's turning his car." 
 
 "Then he recognised me. He's going to follow." 
 
 "What does he want?" 
 
 "The reward, of course. He wants to make sure, and 
 then there's the adventure, the experience, the public- 
 ity. . . ." 
 
 Buel cursed. 
 
 "Not so fast," Helena repeated. "You can't possibly 
 get me back to Bayonne without his seeing where I live. 
 Then everything will be up."
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 241 
 
 "Then what can I do?" Buel asked helplessly. 
 
 "I don't know yet. Only you can't prevent his overtaking* 
 us. If you attempt fast driving, you'll have an accident or 
 be arrested. There's no gain there." 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" 
 
 "I'm thinking." 
 
 She had drawn down her veil. 
 
 Turning slightly, she looked back. The car was not over 
 a hundred feet away and it was gaining on them. 
 
 Whatever plans were made would have to be completed 
 in something less than the fraction of a minute. She 
 knew Mr. Buel could not be of assistance except in carry- 
 ing out plans of her own direction. 
 
 "Do you remember the cafe we passed ?" she asked, her 
 voice controlled, her manner calm. 
 
 "Yes. The Anglais." 
 
 "Drive there." 
 
 "But Nell . . ." 
 
 "I haven't time to explain. Only listen and do just as I 
 say. This is my reputation, and if it must be lost, let me 
 lose it in my own way. Take a table inside and order tea 
 for us both." 
 
 They could hear the splash of the water behind distinctly. 
 
 "You'll do that?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They turned a corner perilously. The motor halted. Mr. 
 Buel was out on the pavement and had assisted Helena 
 to alight. As they entered the cafe the other car turned 
 the corner. The young Frenchman saw Buel, pulled up 
 quickly, his car skidding and then applied the brake with 
 a jolt. A second later he had leapt to the pavement. 
 
 The cafe they entered was almost deserted and a number 
 of waiters approached them solicitously. Miss Cass turned 
 to the maitre d'hotel, and speaking French, asked if there 
 was a room where a lady might have the mud stains 
 removed from her clothes. 
 
 "Mais certainement, Madame," he said, leading her to 
 the rear of the room. He opened a mirror door, and Miss
 
 242 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Cass thanked him and entered. As the man returned to 
 Mr. Buel, the young Frenchman had already followed him 
 in. " Mr. Buel took a table and ordered tea for two. 
 
 His companion pulled out a chair from the next table and 
 thrust himself into it with determination. He ordered an 
 aperitif and lighted a cigarette. For some time the two 
 men sat glowering at each other. There was no doubt 
 that the young Frenchman held the trump hand and was 
 pleasantly aware of it. He had the appearance of being a 
 perennial bachelor, one of those men who by remaining 
 unattached are roughly classed by hostesses as "young." 
 But the Frenchman had been considered young for a 
 good many years now, a type more effective in America 
 where it is less known than abroad. 
 
 Mr. Buel was unable to conceive of Helena's plan of 
 action. Even though she kept them waiting a long time, 
 she would have to re-emerge at last. It was futile to sup- 
 pose that their neighbour would tire of waiting. The longer 
 he remained the keener he grew. Or did Miss Cass sup- 
 pose she could in some way disguise herself. But he realised 
 his reasoning became childish. 
 
 When the tea was served he altered the position of his 
 chair so that he could no longer face the man's insolence. 
 He had ordered another drink and he heard the scratch 
 of a match for a fresh cigarette. Mr. Buel remained, his 
 nerves on a hair trigger. What could she be planning? He 
 knew his evident distress must call forth amusement from 
 the next table. He crossed and recrossed his legs, shifted 
 his weight on the small insecure chair. He took out his 
 watch. He had waited fifteen minutes. With his eyes 
 fastened on the mirror door he settled himself in dread to 
 wait her reappearance.
 
 XXIX 
 
 IT was after midnight when the south express drew into 
 Paris. It had been raining steadily for hours and the 
 windows of the Sud-express were blurred with mist and run- 
 nels of water. The last figure to alight was a veiled and 
 manteled silhouette without luggage, who cautiously fol- 
 lowed the emburdened passengers from the shelter of the 
 Gare de Lyon to the street. 
 
 As a succession of taxicabs drove up she entered hers in 
 turn and instructed the chauffeur to drive to the Grands 
 Boulevards. Then she drew up the window and leaned 
 back in the dark. Had she been a fugitive from justice, 
 Miss Cass reflected, her position could not have been more 
 perilous. She relieved the past hours since her precipitate 
 flight, wondering how long Jordan Buel had waited and if 
 ne had worried when her absence was finally discovered. 
 
 Directly Miss Cass had entered the dressing-room at 
 Biarritz she had adjusted her hat, arranged her hair, given 
 the attendant a generous fee, who had shown her the rear 
 door, which admitted to the street. Once more on the 
 pavement she had entered the first taxicab and been driven 
 to the station. There she had taken a train to Bayonne and 
 waited for the Paris express. Before leaving she had pen- 
 cilled a note to her mother, telling her plans and dropped it 
 in the station box. Since she had been sighted she knew 
 it would be unsafe for her to remain there another hour. 
 
 She had placed the Frenchman in her mind now. His 
 name was Georges Durand, and he was an attache at the 
 French embassy in Washington. He had been an acquaint- 
 ance of Vida Newbolt's, whom she had liked to suggest 
 had to be kept at arm's length. This, however, had not 
 been exactly the case. According to the continental ap- 
 praisement of American fortunes, Miss Newbolt's father 
 
 243
 
 244 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 was not a "rich" man and Monsieur Durand's attentions 
 had been temperate while he withheld himself for a higher 
 bribe. 
 
 Her cab continued beside the Seine, the quai deserted, the 
 water below black but for occasional flashes of red and 
 green, and the clustered lights of bridges which spanned 
 the noiseless flow. In the Place de la Chatelet there was 
 movement and as they joined the concourse of taxicabs in 
 Boulevard Sebastopol the city took on its more familiar 
 aspect. The less respected element of Paris was to be 
 found here seated at little tables under awnings, while on 
 the pavements passed and repassed an army of raised um- 
 brellas. Her chauffeur dodged through unilluminated 
 streets to regain the Boulevards. They passed the Opera, 
 now dark, where posters announced "Faust" had been sung 
 that evening and she bade him halt in front of the Made- 
 leine. It was an odd place and hour for a young woman 
 alone to dismiss a taxicab. The driver looked at her with 
 a curious distrust as she asked her fare, but her fluency 
 and decisiveness, while not precisely those of a compatriot, 
 decided him to quote the correct tariff. 
 
 The heavy rain had now lessened to the slow continuous 
 drizzle of a Paris winter and Miss Cass made her way 
 through it without protest. She realised she had several 
 streets to traverse, but knowing that an effort might be 
 made to trace her, if it was discovered that Paris was her 
 objective, she did not wish her whereabouts known too ac- 
 curately. The Place de la Madeleine, which in the day- 
 time sheltered a flower-market, was now a space of deserted 
 stalls. She directed her steps through the Rue Trouchet, 
 passed Printemps and turned the corner of the Rue Cau- 
 martin. She recalled a small second-rate family hotel whose 
 prosperity she doubted being sufficient to reject her. She 
 realised that arriving at the average hotel unescorted and 
 without luggage she would be refused accommodation. 
 
 At the office she explained her maid and luggage had 
 missed the train and would overtake her in the morning. 
 She smiled with a certain serenity when shown to modest
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 245 
 
 but not comfortless rooms. Her facility in improving on 
 the truth was becoming sufficiently apt to be Gallic in qual- 
 ity. Cold chicken, a salad, bread, a bottle of red wine and 
 a Camembert cheese were sent up to her. She dined, re- 
 moved her wet clothes and retired. 
 
 The next evening while out she telephoned the Crillon 
 and discovered Mrs. Dion Tilden had arrived less than an 
 hour before. The following day, dressed in different clothes 
 which her mother had brought her, she paid her bill and 
 removed to join Mrs. Tilden. Mr. Buel and Roscoe came 
 several days later and installed themselves at the Meurice. 
 And so the immediate results of her indiscretion were 
 evaded. . . . 
 
 One day after an afternoon spent in motoring to St. 
 Cloud, Helena and Mr. Buel returned through the Bois, 
 The rain which had ceased for two hours recommenced 
 with vigour. They passed open-air restaurants now closed, 
 where it beat dolefully on overturned tables and rusted iron 
 chairs. 
 
 "Small wonder," Mr. Buel observed, "that no one ever 
 winters in Paris." 
 
 Miss Cass had, for the most part, remained silent during 
 the ride, but her fiance was sufficiently sympathetic not to 
 expect entire reasonableness from her at the present time 
 and gave scant attention to her mood. As they joined the 
 Champs Elysees she was attracted by kiosks of gaudy 
 posters announcing a series of concerts. 
 
 "I should love to go," she exclaimed. "I crave music. 
 Will you try to get seats ?" 
 
 "You must have taken leave of your senses," he an- 
 swered with some abruptness. "How can you go? Even 
 our rides are more or less of a risk." 
 
 She made no protest, but that evening Mrs. Cass led him 
 aside. 
 
 "Men don't understand women," she said naively. "I 
 know you would give Helena everything that seemed best 
 for her. But I feel we must go further than that and in- 
 dulge her. She has had a terrible experience and we must
 
 2 4 6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 help her to forget it. I am speaking in the interest of the 
 child as much as for Helena herself. Her craving for 
 music is unfortunate at this moment, but I feel it should be 
 gratified. Why not get seats for the L'Amoureux for Sun- 
 day week? There are always subscriptions returned, and 
 you could go early, occupy a box, sit back in the shadow, 
 for the lights are lowered throughout the concert, and 
 be among the last to leave. Helena can be veiled coming 
 out." 
 
 "Of course if she wishes it as much as that ..." 
 
 "She does." 
 
 "Then it is settled." 
 
 The next afternoon, while not fine, was the first day in 
 weeks in which there had been no rainfall. They motored 
 out to Passy and on their return Mr. Buel drew the car up 
 in the Rue La Boetie. Across the street were long lines 
 of waiting cars and fraternising chauffeurs and footmen. 
 The Sunday concert was in progress and Miss Cass re- 
 mained veiled in the car, listening to the fortissimo of the 
 great orchestra which could be heard through closed doors. 
 There were several persons before him at the bureau de 
 location and Mr. Buel took his place and waited his turn. 
 
 Without, in the chill grey afternoon, few people passed. 
 Miss Cass was not impatient. There came a final crash of 
 sound of an immense crescendo, followed by a storm of 
 applause. At that moment a man and woman left the con- 
 cert rooms and descended the stairs to the street. Mr. 
 Buel was just behind them. He waved the tickets above 
 his head that she might see he had been successful. 
 
 "It's all right," he called out. "We're in luck. I got a 
 loge for next Sunday. It had just been returned." 
 
 As he spoke the lady turned as though hearing a familiar 
 tongue. 
 
 "Why, it's Mr. Buel," she exclaimed. 
 
 He saw too late that he had been recognised by Madame 
 de Lanel and her husband. They had apparently wearied 
 of the concert and had left early to reach their car before 
 the rush of the vast audience was disgorged. Madame de
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 247 
 
 Lanel was looking very attractive in her somewhat artificial 
 way, dressed in black miroir velvet to enhance her fairness, 
 a heavy scarf of pointed fox slipping from her shoulders 
 and a muff tucked under her arm. On her bosom had been 
 fastened a spray of green and brown orchids. The Mar- 
 quis looked less well than when Mr. Buel had last seen 
 him. 
 
 "Surely you haven't forgotten me, Mr. Buel?" she said. 
 "I am Madame de Lanel. Don't you remember the picnic 
 you had a year ago in Brittany when poor Helena was 
 my guest? ... I so often think of her." 
 
 She spoke with excitement and her natural proprietary 
 air which she adopted toward all men. She was conscious 
 of her effectiveness and of something more. Madame de 
 Lanel's discovery was causing Mr. Buel embarrassment 
 entirely out of keeping with the circumstances, which urged 
 her to go further. 
 
 "I read in the New York Herald that Nell was seen the 
 other day in Biarritz. Do you place any credit in that?" 
 
 Mr. Buel ignored her address through sheer bewilder- 
 ment. Not knowing how to receive it, he said nothing. 
 He now returned her gaze, remarking blankly : 
 
 "I am sorry, madame, but you've made a mistake." 
 
 He took his motor-mask from his pocket and yet hesi- 
 tated to put it on, fearing that if he entered the car this 
 action would focus her attention upon its present occu- 
 pant. But Madame de Lanel was a creature of keen infer- 
 ence. As he remained irresolute before the car, she came 
 closer and looked at the veiled figure. The Marquis had 
 held out a detaining hand, urging her to leave. 
 
 "Bebe, je If en pris," was all he said. 
 
 "It's Nell," she exclaimed. "I thought as much. Tris- 
 tram this is Helena Cass in the car. This man has hidden 
 her. Don't let him leave." She called her own chauffeur. 
 "Henri. . . . Henri. . . . Call a gendarme . . . vite . . . 
 vite. ..." 
 
 But in that moment Mr. Buel had put on his mask, en- 
 tered his car and they were in motion. He increased the
 
 248 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 speed and before Madame de Lanel had explained the sit- 
 uation they had turned the corner. 
 
 He drove the car straight to the Hotel du Crillon 
 without once opening his mouth. Miss Cass ascended 
 to her sitting-room. Her mother had drawn an easy chair 
 before a coal fire which burned in the grate and looked up 
 from a book at her entrance. As Helena removed her veil 
 she scented disaster. Mr. Buel strode over to the chimney 
 piece, tore the tickets in two and threw them into the 
 fire. 
 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "Madame de Lanel has just seen us and recognised us 
 both." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "In front of the Gaveau." 
 
 "What is Helena going to do ?" 
 
 "'You will have to ask her." 
 
 Miss Cass had gone directly to her own room and her 
 mother did not follow her at once, realising she had no 
 immediate comfort to offer. Instead she asked her ques- 
 tions of Mr. Buel, knowing her daughter was in no mood 
 to satisfy them. This was only one, she realised, of a series 
 of persecutions which would follow every time she ap- 
 peared in public. She attempted to overcome any such sub- 
 conscious promptings but she had always been doubtful of 
 the future, and now it seemed more than ever dubious. 
 
 She looked at Mr. Buel. He was standing across the 
 room from her chewing a cigarette he had forgotten to 
 light, his hands thrust viciously into his trousers' pockets. 
 
 "Have you any plan?" 
 
 "Plan?" 
 
 He repeated the word as though suspicious that the ques- 
 tion contained elements of chaff. That was his only an- 
 swer, and she realised at once that he would not be helpful. 
 She was still attempting to regulate her thoughts when Miss 
 Cass opened the connecting door and re-entered. She had 
 changed even to the details of shoes and gloves and "car-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 249 
 
 ried a handbag, which she deposited on the sofa. They both 
 watched her in speechless concern. 
 
 "Where are you going?" Mrs. Cass asked at length, as 
 Helena protruded her lips as a part of the process of tying 
 her veil while looking into the mirror above the chimney 
 piece. 
 
 "I don't know yet. Please telephone down to the office 
 for time-tables for the Midi." 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, having studied one, she rose 
 decisively. She had apparently taken stock of what had 
 happened and already knew the step to which she was 
 committed. 
 
 "Jordan, I want you to motor me to Tours." 
 
 "As you say." 
 
 "When are you going, dear?" 
 
 Mrs. Cass's eyes followed the small handbag which her 
 daughter had reclaimed. 
 
 "Now. This is good-bye. I've left my jewellery and 
 taken some of your money. I reach Tours to-night and 
 take the midnight train on to Spain." 
 
 "But where are you going?" 
 
 "Back to the convent. It is the only place for me until 
 after baby is born. They are Christian women. They 
 will take me in. And when I am safe there you must all go 
 back to America. It will help to attract attention away 
 from me. I am leaving now because to-morrow would be 
 too late. There will be headlines in the Herald then and a 
 description. I know Edith. She is not far from guessing 
 the truth." 
 
 Mrs. Cass took her silently and tenderly in her arms. 
 
 "Oh, mumsy, if I were only dead. ..." 
 
 "Helena!" 
 
 "I'm sorry. There are you and Jordan and baby to live 
 for." 
 
 "Everything is going to come out all right." 
 
 "I suppose so. But that optimism that is based largely 
 upon misfortune bores me rather."
 
 250 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 They were her last words as she blew her mother a kiss 
 before leaving the hotel. 
 
 Neither Buel nor Miss Cass cared to talk. He sat silent, 
 both hands on the wheel, his eyes watching the road ahead. 
 As they approached villages they slackened their pace 
 slightly, and then passing them increased it that no time 
 should be lost. The floor under his feet grew warm, and 
 the throb of the motor made him feel they were pressed 
 against a living heart. A mechanism that cared was help- 
 ing him, doing its utmost. Helena sat dumb at his side, 
 her hands clasped together. Her eyes were fastened on the 
 tattered fragments of a sunset illumined by a momentary 
 clearing. Then the darkness came down between them 
 and only a broad fan of light lay ahead like a magnify- 
 ing glass examining details of the road before it passed 
 under them. 
 
 Once at a village they halted while Mr. Buel entered a 
 cafe. He ordered wine and sandwiches and returned with 
 them to the car. They were still being propelled madly 
 through the darkness while she ate. She could see the small, 
 illuminated clock beside the speedometre at her feet and 
 realised it would be a race to make the train. She offered 
 to drive while Mr. Buel ate. He refused the suggestion 
 curtly. At length they drew into the outskirts of Tours 
 and she opened the map, directing him, that he need ask no 
 questions and so they slackened and drew up at the sta- 
 tion. 
 
 There were few persons there. In the outer darkness 
 they kissed and said brief good-byes. Life seemed very 
 experimental to them both at that moment and they knew 
 they were threatened by its impermanence. Miss Cass 
 entered the lighted waiting-room and he remained at a 
 distance in his car in the outer darkness to see her safely 
 aboard. Ten minutes later the express thundered in. He 
 saw her make her way to the first-class carriages, saw her 
 ascend the step, turn and flutter a handkerchief. A tight- 
 ness came into his throat and he drove his motor-car reck- 
 lessly back to avoid watching the train disappear.
 
 XXX 
 
 AFTER Madame de Lanel had finished telling of her ex- 
 perience, Jay Sefton returned to his hotel and sat by the 
 open window of his room in the spring dusk. He thought 
 over each detail, clothing it in likelihood. He put aside 
 the Marquis's doubts of Miss Cass's identity. He was 
 assured that Buel's companion could be no other. He 
 agreed with Madame de Lanel that she must have left 
 Paris immediately before the morning papers had published 
 her statement. 
 
 No means of escape was more likely than that Buel had 
 motored her out of town. Tours was the farthest point 
 they could make and still catch the Rapide that night. For, 
 of course, she had returned to Spain and the convent since 
 it was the only refuge where shelter was assured. 
 
 He looked at his watch, realised there was still a chance 
 that he could make the train, packed his bag, paid his bill, 
 and was driven recklessly to the Quai d'Orsay. He man- 
 aged to obtain a reservation on the Rapide, and a few 
 minutes later the lights of Paris were shifting by. The 
 great Tower Eiffel, bestriding the city like the Colossus of 
 Rhodes, was gone. A couple of rockets pierced the haze 
 sent up from the arrondissement of Boulevard de Clichy, 
 where a street fair was in progress. That night he lay in 
 his berth, placed transversely across the width of the train 
 in order to receive a maximum of movement, and thought 
 and thought. 
 
 He found innumerable changes in Trinidad, which had 
 occurred during the few weeks he had been away. Spring, 
 which was only sketcfcily suggested in Paris, had arrived 
 in Spain. The air was warm, the gardens filled with sweet 
 basil, the hillside heavy with the scent of spikenard, varied 
 with the more modest white and mauve cistus and groves 
 
 251
 
 252 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 of wild iris. He was welcomed back by his host of the 
 inn as an old friend. Directly following his lunch, Sefton 
 walked from the village along the grass road that led to 
 the convent. He would make no further appeal to Hipolito. 
 What he had to say now Would be addressed to the Prior- 
 ess herself. 
 
 He had not attempted to put his thoughts in order as he 
 approached the austere building that crowned the hill. He 
 rang the bell beside the green door, and while he waited 
 he could hear its ring die away in the sepulchral silence 
 august, ageless. The scent of the lime trees reached him 
 from the convent garden and feelings tumultous, inchoate, 
 struggled within. Did this building shelter her, or had she 
 died and been laid to rest among the mounds without, 
 which held more of the sisters than were at present alive. . . 
 
 After a moment Sefton heard a shambling footstep, then 
 a slide in the door was pushed aside and one eye appeared 
 in the opening, dark, sexless, inscrutable. It looked at him 
 through a steel-rimmed spectacle. 
 
 "I wish to see the prioress," he said. 
 
 "That is not possible, senor. The reverend mother does 
 not see strangers from the world." 
 
 "She will see me if you w r ill explain my errand. I have 
 come from America to see a young woman who is an in- 
 mate here." 
 
 "The reverend mother never sees anyone," she repeated, 
 as though it were an expression committed by rote. 
 
 "Will you deliver my message?" 
 
 She agreed, the slide closed and she was gone. 
 
 He waited ten minutes and still the portress did not 
 return. Below in the road he could see a yoke of white 
 oxen being led along by a waggoner. They were harnessed 
 to a carreta filled with manure and were on their way to 
 enrich the fields. Occasionally he could hear the man's 
 voice calling to them, even at that distance. For a moment 
 he was forgetful of this errand in the peace of the country- 
 side when the door was unlatched behind him. 
 
 The portress opened the door, and he saw a woman hid-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 253 
 
 den in the heavy folds of her white clothing, a black veil 
 covering her face fell to her knees, so that her features 
 were unseen. She led him across a passage that smelled 
 of cleanliness, the administrations of soap and gathered lav- 
 ender that had dried. She opened the door to the visitors' 
 parlour and mutely bade him enter. The room was bare 
 except for two straight chairs, an arm-chair, a table on 
 which were crossed a Bible and what he suspected was a 
 visitors'-book. Above it on a bracket was a plaster image 
 of the Virgin. Besides this the room had no furnishing. 
 A window looked into the garden, but any view was hid- 
 den by a hedge of freshly clipped myrtle. 
 
 Sefton seated himself, for the first time aware of worldly 
 boots under gaiters and expensive, well-made knickerbock- 
 ers. The Carlsbad hat he held in his hand seemed as out 
 of place in these holy surroundings as would his own to- 
 bacco-scented appearence be in heaven. He crossed his 
 legs uneasily, leaning back in the small, insecure chair. He 
 had left the arm-chair unoccupied for the prioress. Several 
 moments later a member of the order entered, large, pow- 
 erful, unwieldy in her robes and veiled like the portress. 
 He knew instinctively that she was not the superior of the 
 order, but rose though she made a gesture for him to retain 
 his seat. When she spoke her voice was high, unmelodious, 
 unlike the speaking voice of the average Spanish woman. 
 
 "I have the honor of speaking to the prioress?" he asked. 
 
 "No, senor. You are evidently not of the faith, or you 
 would know that no man except a prince of the house of 
 Asturias is allowed that privilege. I will see you in the 
 place of the Mother Espiritu. What is it that brings you 
 to the order?" 
 
 As she asked her question, he heard a click in the wall 
 behind him, and he realised that, although concealed, 
 Mother Espiritu was evidently listening to their conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "What was the name of the young woman that you 
 wished to speak to the reverend mother about?" 
 
 "Helena Cass. I know that she came here several years
 
 254 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ago, that she left for Paris with her mother and fiance and 
 later returned. You don't deny that she is here, do you?" 
 
 "I don't deny anything?" 
 
 "May I accept that, then, as an admission that she is 
 here?" 
 
 "Neither do I admit anything. The order is a contem- 
 plative one. A secret spoken here is never repeated." 
 
 These words were uttered with a lifelessness that was 
 inflexible. Were all his clues to end here? Would there 
 be no word vouchsafed him that would pierce her armour? 
 In the last few hours he had so encouraged the belief she 
 was alive that the sister's words produce a malign reflex. 
 He looked at her large, capable hands folded in her lap. 
 The sweat came to his brow. He felt a sudden stringency 
 about his heart. 
 
 "She's not dead?" he asked. 
 
 "I cannot tell you." 
 
 "You must, mother; you must!" 
 
 "You haven't told me who you are." 
 
 "My name is Sefton. I'm a friend of Miss Cass. I 
 love her, but I am not her fiance. Anything you tell me 
 will be as safe with me as with you. I shall never repeat 
 a word of it. If she has become a member of the order 
 and has forsworn the world, I'll go away and no one will 
 know it. Only she wouldn't do that. If for any reason 
 she does not wish to see me I won't press it. I am think- 
 ing only of her good. If my being here distresses her, you 
 have only to bring me that message and I shall not come 
 back." 
 
 "Who sent you here?" 
 
 "No one ; I have been searching for months. In spite of 
 the greatest difficulties and weeks of discouragement, I have 
 been able to trace her to this convent. I have come here 
 only because I couldn't rest until I found her. Now, won't 
 you tell me what you know?" 
 
 For a moment the vigorous veiled figure remained mo- 
 tionless. Then extending a hand out of her loose sleeve, 
 she rang a silver bell. The portress appeared in the door-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 255 
 
 way and the sister gave her an imperious sign, without once 
 opening her lips, and she went away. Only the sound of 
 her rosary at her side and her sandals on the stone floor 
 were audible in surroundings which had imprisoned vari- 
 ous degrees of silence now centuries old. 
 
 They were evidently waiting for the reverend mother's 
 reply. The minutes were full of portent. 
 
 He did not turn in his chair, nor recross his thighs, 
 though his leg was full of tingles, his foot having gone 
 asleep. The blood was thumping in his head. The sister 
 seated across the room from him in the arm-chair remained 
 like some graven image ; he could hear the partial articula- 
 tion of her lips repeating her lesson. There came a click 
 in the wall behind him and he knew the prioress had closed 
 her means of communication with the visitors' parlour. 
 
 A moment later the portress returned, gave a sign to 
 the sister, who maintained silence until the other had with- 
 drawn. Then she said: 
 
 "The reverend mother thinks it advisable for you to 
 know the truth."
 
 XXXI 
 
 THE portress looked at Miss Cass blindly with her weak, 
 near-sighted eyes. Visitors were rare experiences at the 
 convent. The bell ringing in her lodge long after dusk 
 was in itself sufficiently unusual to send Sister Natividad's 
 heart up into her throat. But Helena's appearing from 
 nowhere at that hour of the night and unaccompanied was 
 almost past belief. 
 
 Helena had always possessed a dangerous and exotic 
 quality which, to the timid, inexperienced sister, eluded 
 classification. She had forgotten to adjust her steel-rimmed 
 spectacles and so blinked owl-fashion at the intruder, who 
 now entered uninvited. After closing and securely bolting 
 the door, she removed her spectacles from her forehead 
 and placed them astride her nose, peering inquisitively 
 through them. Helena felt a perverse and wilful desire 
 to cry "hoot, hoot!" to the myopic portress. 
 
 "It's only I, Sister Natividad," she reassured her, ex- 
 tending her hand pleasantly. 
 
 Her gesture possessed the ease of one not readily put 
 out and a not unstudied assurance. But Sister Natividad, 
 never garrulous, remained fluttering and inarticulate, with- 
 out social graces, while she watched her with uncouth 
 curiosity. 
 
 The young woman saw that the portress had given a sus- 
 picious glance to the Paris mantle, which hung from her 
 shoulders, artfully shapeless yet shrouding, which covered 
 while it did not define her. Every worldly angle of the 
 hat she wore attested to Rue de la Paix; its decoration 
 was now partially hidden by her veil as she threw it back 
 to show her pale, determined features. A scent totally 
 unknown to the convent, delicate but disquieting, enveloped 
 her. 
 
 256
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 257 
 
 "You are surprised to see me, Sister Natividad, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 It was the portress's uncompromising reply. 
 
 "I hope you're not sorry I've come back. May I see 
 the Reverend Mother? And will you tell her it is very 
 important to me to see her?" 
 
 The sister watched her a moment unwaveringly. Miss 
 Cass remained silent, her manner charged with a certain 
 authority. Something in the poise of her head and the 
 repose of her clasped hands conveyed in substance that 
 she was accustomed to being obeyed. Sister Natividad, 
 inured to submission, turned and disappeared down the 
 corridor, her sandals shuffling away to the Prioress's sit- 
 ting-room. 
 
 She was not one of the "cerebrals" of the order, Helena 
 made inward comment. She wondered what Mother Es- 
 piritu would say when told of her return. She could not 
 imagine the form of words with which the portress would 
 clothe her advent. 
 
 There was no chair in the corridor, so that Miss Cass 
 perforce remained standing. An insufficient light fell about 
 her from the small overhead lantern. Minutes passed and 
 Sister Natividad did not return. At first it occurred to her 
 that the Prioress might be occupied with her accounts or 
 checking bills. Then as the time extended she supposed 
 it was the hour of Vespers, in which case the entire con- 
 vent was in chapel and Mother Espiritu was on her knees 
 in her stall and not to be disturbed. 
 
 Miss Cass consulted her watch. It lacked a few minutes 
 of nine o'clock. At nine the bell rang and the last light was 
 extinguished. Her fears had suddenly increased and all 
 her appearance of capability and well-bred aloofness could 
 not cloak a naked dread. She was desperate; in their 
 hands. She was begging asylum after the manner of a 
 street waif, and like one she was being refused. She 
 attempted to steady herself against the blow. 
 
 She had decided to make use of falsehood, if necessary,
 
 258 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 to insure her entrance. Just what falsehood she did not 
 know. Suppose Mother Espiritu refused to enter into 
 any discussion and declined to see her. What then? Or 
 if she saw her and rejected her plea, what could she say to 
 shake her opposition ? 
 
 ' She knew without a strong case it was hopeless. But 
 before she had decided upon what appeal to hang her peti- 
 tion the portress appeared at the end of the corridor alone. 
 As she returned Miss Cass realised her failure and that 
 she was about to be ejected. 
 
 "The Reverend Mother will see you in her sitting- 
 room." 
 
 :. She followed the round, bulbous sister, mounted two steps 
 and entered the Prioress's room. No effort had been made 
 to evolve comfort The walls were bare, distempered like 
 those of the refectory. A writing-table stood before the 
 windows with a small dark-shaded lamp. It was furnished 
 with an ink-horn, a pot of coloured sand and a quill. In 
 a corner were canary and parrot cages, both covered with 
 flannel for the night as a caution against drafts and to in- 
 sure silence. A niche in the wall upheld a statue in coloured 
 plaster of the Virgin with upraised eyes and a glowing 
 heart projected through her garments. Between the doors, 
 the one by which they had entered and that admitting to 
 the convent parlour, was a large crucifix of ivory, the 
 crown of thorns and loin-cloth of bronze. 
 
 Mother Espiritu was seated at her writing-table looking 
 precisely as she had when Miss Cass had gone away. In 
 one hand she held her open breviary. She looked up upon 
 Helena's entrance, but she did not rise. Her eyes as she 
 exchanged a glance with the visitor were not easy to 
 meet. Her face, at all times strangely impersonal, mask- 
 like, did not betray a trace of recognition, although her 
 words acknowledged the other's identity. 
 
 "It is the Senorita. Sister Natividad says you asked to 
 see me." 
 
 "Yes, Mother." 
 
 There was a moment's pause while the applicant rallied
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 259 
 
 her forces of attack. There was nothing selfless or effaced 
 in the personality of the Prioress. She was dominant, 
 strong-willed ; a woman constructed entirely of steel with a 
 thin overlay of flesh, like some priceless porcelain from 
 China, the secret of whose composition had long since been 
 lost. A pale incandescence shone through her flesh. Her 
 eyes were indocile yet as all-seeing as those of the recording 
 angel. She was beautiful in an august, ageless and terrible 
 way. The surrounding whiteness of her scapular with 
 onlf Jie relief of her black veil made her seem the less 
 huniAfl. And her complete suspension of the animate made 
 one doubt if her eyes could have attachment to bodily wants 
 or suffering. The extraordinary power to benumb ren- 
 dered Miss Cass silent for several minutes. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "May I see you alone?" 
 
 The portress had remained just inside the door as though 
 in readiness to conduct Miss Cass, at a moment's notice, 
 into the outer darkness. Now at a sign from Mother 
 Espiritu she withdrew. 
 
 "I have come to see if I might enter the convent?'* 
 
 "You mean . . . become a nun?" 
 
 "Yes, Mother." 
 
 "It's a pity you didn't put your request into writing. It 
 would have saved you a useless trip." 
 
 "You are not going to refuse me?" 
 
 "You are not of the faith, sefiorita. And there are other 
 reasons why you are particularly unfitted." 
 
 Miss Cass did not avoid the Prioress's eyes. 
 
 "What reasons?" she asked. 
 
 "Your prospective motherhood." 
 
 "Surely a child would not be in the way for the first 
 months. When old enough to be taken from me he shall 
 be sent to my mother. Then I can be free to enter upon 
 the term of my postulancy, and later become a novice and 
 still later a member of the order." 
 
 "If your resolution has not changed a year from now, 
 when your child can be separated from you, return to me
 
 26o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 and you will be admitted as a postulant. At present it's 
 impossible." 
 
 "Don't turn me away, Mother." 
 
 There was fear in her voice. 
 
 "What has suddenly attracted your attention toward 
 religion ?" 
 
 "The time spent here. It was very peaceful. I didn't 
 suppose that in all the world there was so peaceful a life." 
 
 "I'm afraid that isn't religion. You're impulsive. You've 
 been unhappy." 
 
 "What difference does the impulse make, Reverend 
 Mother, provided it leads me to the same goal?" 
 
 Twenty minutes later when Miss Cass left Mother Es- 
 piritu's sitting-room she had received partial consent to 
 have the shelter of the convent for a time at teast. She 
 could not remember what arguments she had made use of 
 to convince the Prioress of her fitness. She only realised 
 she had gained her point, and a feeling of peace and safety 
 flooded her with a reminder of her unworthiness that was 
 not far removed from religious exultation. 
 
 Mother Espiritu was at all times decisive, without 
 irresolution. The order of the Sisters of the Adoration 
 was contemplative, not active. They had at no time 
 opened their gates as a retreat for the worldly wishing 
 temporary solace from the world. Nor was theirs a school 
 for the instruction of the laity. Since they had accepted 
 a young woman ill and indigent several months before, 
 there seemed little reason to refuse her now that she was 
 in health and unimpoverished. It was not a matter about 
 which to communicate to the Mother General of the Mother 
 House the Prioress decided, although the act was contrary 
 to anything she had done before. She undertook the entire 
 responsibility of the additional soul under her roof. The 
 sisters would not be contaminated by her presence nor un- 
 settled at their devotions. While it could be put to vote 
 at the next chapter, it was an unwritten law that no prefer- 
 ence of Mother Espiritu's was ever voted against. 
 
 The portress was summoned and given her instructions.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 261 
 
 A moment later she returned with Sister Amparo. The 
 latter, a detached and communicative spirit, was filled with 
 only a half-concealed excitement. She carried Miss Cass's 
 dressing-bag and led her upstairs to her cell. This was in 
 a new wing of the convent, disconnected from the rest 
 and above the infirmary. Here the returned visitor was 
 removed from the novices, who were to remain ignorant 
 of her presence and without speculation on her condition. 
 It was an audacious step to take, but Mother Espiritu 
 had the rank of a grandee of Spain and had she not been a 
 Prioress she would probably have been a statesman. Her 
 decisions, if at any time strange, were never reproved and 
 rarely regretted. 
 
 As Sister Amparo set down her candle on the little wash- 
 stand she looked admiringly at Miss Cass's clothes, and 
 asked where she had been. Did she really wish to become a 
 nun? Did she feel she had a vocation? And how had it 
 made itself felt? Had God spoken to her? Had she been 
 conscious of a vision? 
 
 Then of a sudden she reminded her it was after hours, 
 instructed her to undress as rapidly as possible and put out 
 her light as Benediction had sounded half an hour ago. A 
 second later she was gone. 
 
 The days which followed did not pass quickly to the 
 visitor at the convent of the Sisters of the Adoration. 
 Sister Amparo explained to her Mother Espiritu's instruc- 
 tions. Since Miss Cass had decided to become one of the 
 sisterhood, it was agreed that the present time could be 
 looked upon as a period of meditation preceding the retreat. 
 One of the preliminaries was that since she would later 
 discard the name by which she was known in the world, 
 she could now be called Maria Pia, anticipatory to becom- 
 ing Sister Maria Pia. 
 
 Any such preparations impressed her as quite harmless 
 and unominous. What difference did it make if she was 
 called by her baptismal name or "Pia," excepting that the 
 latter tended to conceal still further her identity. She was 
 pleased by these holy disguises. When the time came her
 
 262 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 means of extricating herself from any obligations or en- 
 tanglements of the order she knew would be as simply ef- 
 fected as had her entrance. 
 
 She was not proud of her deceit now that it had gained 
 her access to the convent. Nothing could be less admirable 
 than her methods of lying to the simple, trusting sisters 
 about a pretended vocation. While the order was not poor 
 she knew her understanding with Mother Espiritu that 
 they would be enriched by her presence had not been with- 
 out consideration. She would allow them to remain un- 
 deceived of her intentions to become a religieusc until after 
 the birth of her child. Then she could explain, naturally 
 enough, that her maternal longings convinced her that her 
 place was in the world. She would make the sisters a 
 handsome gift as restitution toward their losing her. At 
 odd moments she debated what form this gift should take. 
 A rose window above the altar. It would delight the Prior- 
 ess. Or had it not better be something of her own selec- 
 tion? It was less important that it be intrinsically beauti- 
 ful than that the sisters thought it so. Their taste was not 
 always authoritative she had noticed from the artificial 
 flowers at the shrines. Whatever the cost her mother 
 would gladly advance the money for it which would be 
 returned to her directly she was married. 
 
 She felt increasingly weary of the subterfuge which in- 
 terposed itself between her and the union with Jordan 
 Buel. The time of her marriage now seemed further 
 and further removed. Every action of hers was plunging 
 her deeper into a morass of prevarications and lies. Could 
 she ever cut her way out into the air again? 
 
 She was awakened on her first morning by the ringing 
 of the bell and annoyed that her sleep was interrupted by 
 any such distractions she turned in her narrow bed without 
 opening her eyes. A moment later Sister Amparo tapped 
 on her door to tell her the conventual routine. 
 
 The bell rang at 6.15 and at present her rising was oblig- 
 atory. At 6.30 were morning prayers, then Prime and 
 Tierce. At 7 mass, "Mea Maxima Culpa," and exposition.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 263 
 
 At 7.45 breakfast, following which the sisters washed the 
 stone floors of their cells, made their beds and dusted 
 their few possessions. Even these objects which were 
 given them they were forced to exchange at the end of the 
 year in order to destroy all attachment and keep their minds 
 free from transitory interests. Every hour of the day was 
 systematised until De Profundis, "the great silence," and 
 the next morning. 
 
 Sister Amparo explained the rules would be relaxed later 
 on as necessity demanded until she had completely regained 
 her health and was once more normal. She was not ex- 
 pected at Mass in chapel or to share their meals in the 
 refectory. Beneath her cell in the infirmary were two 
 invalid sisters, one said to be over eighty, and a lay sister 
 would serve her meals with them. The strict diet upheld 
 by the rest of the nuns was adjusted, by the Prioress's 
 orders, that she might have strengthening food. She was 
 given the lives of the saints to read, instructed to pray and 
 meditate and allowed to remain idle for hours in the kitchen 
 garden. Here she sat alone separated by hedges from 
 the courtyard and cloister where she could hear the laugh- 
 ter of the novices at recreation. The thought of living 
 through a succession of such purposeless days appalled 
 her. 
 
 In desperation she made the acquaintance during the aft- 
 ernoon of the only man at the convent, Hipolito, the half- 
 witted gardener. Conversation received slight fillup from 
 him, however. In reply to her remarks Hipolito shook his 
 head, or when he found words they came in such a torrent 
 of sound that she understood him still less and restricted 
 herself to gestures and comments of only the most obvious 
 kind. 
 
 Before the day was over she had written a telegram 
 which was despatched to her mother in Paris. The gar- 
 dener carried it to the village and saw to its sending and 
 though the wire was cryptic to the average reader, to Mrs. 
 Cass, who remembered the cipher, it was clear and reassur- 
 ing. The message was purposely uninforming to protect
 
 264 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 her against newspapers and detectives and ran as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 "Convent accepts lace commission. Work on same con- 
 tinues normal and satisfactory. If all goes well should be 
 delivered about the middle of April." 
 
 It was signed "Sister Maria Pia." 
 
 This was followed by no reply according to agreement 
 and yet Maria Pia had hoped that her mother could devise 
 some means of getting word to her in safety. She realised 
 the risk of every wire or letter. That her own had not 
 furnished a clue was fortuitous but not to be repeated. 
 
 It was three weeks later that she received the first 
 letter. It was sent from New York and while their return 
 was a part of their plan to assist her, the knowledge that 
 they were at home and an ocean separated them filled her 
 with depression. The letter was written on plain business 
 paper and had been posted by their lawyer. The superscrip- 
 tion read : "To the Reverend Mother Espiritu of the Con- 
 vent of the Sisters of the Adoration." Within the en- 
 velope it was directed simply to "Sister Maria Pia." 
 
 Mrs. Cass wrote that the great storm of curiosity which 
 had broken at the time of her daughter's disappearance 
 had subsided to a great degree, although her being seen so 
 recently at Biarritz and Paris had encouraged the news- 
 papers to fresh activities. Several of their own letters 
 showed only too plainly that they had been opened before 
 they had reached them and their telephone had been con- 
 tinually tapped. The result was that they had agreed not to 
 mention her even indirectly amongst themselves in order to 
 assure their not being caught. Moreover, in their effort 
 to disabuse present scepticism as to her disappearance she 
 and Annis had ordered half-mourning. 
 
 Mrs. Cass explained that her father, not being convinced 
 of her death, had increased his reward and only the great- 
 est caution could keep her from being found. She had 
 attempted to urge him to withdraw his offer and refuse the 
 offices of the Secret Service but in this she had failed as in 
 other efforts. Mr. Cass remained totally ungovernable
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 265 
 
 and the idea of telling him the truth was not to be thought 
 of. 
 
 She had suggested in case his daughter was guilty of 
 any moral delinquency that his present methods of en- 
 couraging the press would not make her return likely. But 
 Mr. Cass having orientated a certain pose and found it ef- 
 fective refused to abandon it. Maria Pia knew instinctively 
 that her father did not want her found ; first it would neces- 
 sitate his paying the reward; and second he would have to 
 yield his prominence to her. Therefore he had replied to 
 his wife with the utmost vehemence that if their daughter 
 was to blame for her downfall she ceased to be any daugh- 
 ter of his. 
 
 Mrs. Cass cautioned Maria Pia not to refer in her reply to 
 anything contained in the present letter. All communica- 
 tions should be addressed to their man of business, Mr. 
 Gutherie Thomas, at his office in Pine Street. Letters in- 
 tended for Mr. Buel would be readdressed in business en- 
 velopes to his secretary's office in Detroit, there to be opened 
 by Mr. Buel. Those intended for her mother, Roscoe or 
 Annis would be handed them by Mr. Thomas in person. 
 In this way they minimised all dangers, at least for the 
 present. 
 
 Mr. Buel's letters were brief if not circumspect. Articu- 
 lation on paper had never been a simple matter for him. 
 For the most part he restricted himself to outpourings of 
 love and regret at his impotence to be of service at that 
 distance. The return to America had been to confuse the 
 detectives on the scent and convince them that he had aban- 
 doned the search as hopeless. He was impatient to hear 
 of the birth ; to know she was free to return to the world. 
 Just in what way she intended to explain her absence he 
 did not know, but she was always so resourceful that he 
 had implicit trust in her judgment to expel all mysteries. 
 This done, they would be married and the hateful secrecy 
 ended. 
 
 She realised the danger of replying openly and spent 
 days in composing her answers. She wished to have her
 
 266 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 letters simple, transparent, with a seeming absence of in- 
 tention to the casual reader and a second meaning apparent 
 only to her mother or Mr. Buel. None of the sisters were 
 supposed to receive word from the world until the Prioress 
 had decided upon its fitness. But she understood no Eng- 
 lish and as Maria Pia had not yet been ordained she was 
 allowed a greater latitude. Later on, not to be outdone by 
 Mrs. Cass's thoroughness, she bribed the good Sister Am- 
 paro to copy her letters in her strangely foreign hand. 
 
 Winter passed. 
 
 Rainy days were the hardest to endure since her walks 
 were then restricted to the space under the cloisters. In 
 spite of the absence of heat, she was never cold and much 
 of the time actually feverish. 
 
 She lost her colour. Her eyes looked haunted. It 
 seemed to Maria Pia that every vestige of good looks for- 
 sook her. If her appearance did not improve following the 
 baby's birth she hoped she would not survive it. Mr. Buel 
 could have no interest in the sunken-eyed woman with high 
 cheek-bones and bloodless lips. She wore always the one 
 grey woollen dress the sisters had made for her, not unlike 
 the habit of the order, with loose, ungainly sleeves. The 
 neck band was fastened with a white collar, her dark hair 
 plaited and hidden under her cap. 
 
 With the beginning of April the weather turned warmer. 
 The earth, as filled with moisture as a sponge, began to 
 send up anonymous shoots. The trees broke into bud, and 
 the canaries outside the Prioress's window chirped all 
 morning. 
 
 As the period of her confinement drew nearer she was 
 surprised that she did not face the ordeal with calm. The 
 one implacable fact which forced itself upon her attention 
 was that she would be without medical aid. To be sure, 
 the infirmarian would take the best care of her that she 
 could, but the sister had lived a cloistered life and was 
 without experience. 
 
 Maria Pia doubted if the town boasted a practitioner 
 of ability, but in any case he was denied her. The order
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 267 
 
 had bound themselves to observe perpetual enclosure, and 
 though during the past twenty-five years they had fallen 
 into greater relaxation, no such departure as the Prioress's 
 present one in accepting her had been considered before. 
 For a doctor to attend a young woman at childbirth 
 within the convent would place Mother Espiritu in disre- 
 pute. 
 
 Her present feeling was not fear of death, so she as- 
 sured herself. Nor was it regret at being unable to see her 
 mother or fiance again. For oddly enough the personalities 
 of both now seemed merged and appeared as one, the only 
 kind and beneficent friend in the world who loved her. 
 She was haunted by a feeling of being utterly alone in an 
 atmosphere where life or death were matters of total in- 
 consequence. Sister Amparo's attempt to comfort her with 
 assurances that in case of death she would be anointed 
 and given the last sacrament failed utterly. And when the 
 lay-sister talked earnestly of being a "bride of the Lord" 
 Maria Pia had to curb an inclination to become light and 
 irreligious. She was conscious that her condition was more 
 physical than otherwise, and that she was not entirely 
 responsible for her longings. 
 
 The continued discipline, arduous and unrelaxed, irked 
 her. She was maddened by the rules governing intercourse. 
 She might be a quarantine patient set aside in a ward of 
 infectious disorders for all the fellowship which prevailed. 
 She could not speak to the Superiors unless first spoken 
 to. The Prioress she had not seen more than three times 
 since her entrance. The other sisters merely inclined their 
 heads slightly as they passed her, except for Sister Amparo, 
 but she was a lay-sister with rarely a moment for medita- 
 tion. The lay-sisters discharged all work of the convent 
 and their only dissatisfaction with their condition was that 
 it deprived them of sufficient time for prayer. Therefore 
 the periods designated as "recreation" Sister Amparo 
 occupied in reciting her office. 
 
 Maria Pia had written to the chief bookseller in Madrid 
 for a list of books. But upon their arrival the Prioress
 
 268 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 had investigated the package and been scandalised by 
 its contents. It seemed that the greater part of the mod- 
 ern writers of Spain were not endorsed by the church. The 
 books were burned and Maria Pia's avid taste for compan- 
 ionship was not whetted by those recommended from the 
 convent shelves. 
 
 She had attempted social conversation with the aged in- 
 valids in the infirmary but one was toothless and Maria 
 Pia's efforts at understanding a foreign language that was 
 largely swallowed made her hysterical. The other sister 
 rarely spoke but sat for hours with opaque eyes, while her 
 rosary passed intermittently through her lean fingers, yel- 
 low as parchment. Her face was emaciated and her lips 
 murmuring a continuous Pater, Ave and Gloria seemed 
 worn away by perpetual praying. 
 
 She became afraid that looking at the elderly nuns 
 might have a bad impression upon her child and so culti- 
 vated an annoying trait of looking away while addressing 
 them. Hipolito had ceased to be an invigourating com- 
 panion. At present there was little or no work to be 
 done out of doors. Earlier she had transplanted bulbs 
 from the greenhouse and taken to weeding borders but 
 even that was too wearisome for her at present. She 
 longed to learn lace-making to keep her hands occupied 
 but had grown too "nervous" for exacting work. 
 
 One evening she returned to her cell to see if a letter 
 had arrived from her mother. Letters came more fre- 
 quently from Mr. Buel now that the time drew nearer. 
 But she hoped this one would be from her mother, for 
 after all she felt hers would contain greater comfort and be 
 more understanding. As she opened her door she looked 
 on her bed ; it contained no letter. The bed, like all others, 
 was narrow, spotlessly white, with a brass crucifix against 
 the pillows. 
 
 She started in search of Sister Amparo when De Pro- 
 fundis sounded. At that moment she heard the lay-sister's 
 step in the passage and went to meet her.
 
 St}E WHO WAS HELENA CASS 269 
 
 "You are just the person I want to see," she said. "Will 
 you copy a letter for me, dear sister?" 
 
 She made her request in her most winning way, but Sis- 
 ter Amparo gave no sign of having heard her. 
 
 "I know the bell has sounded for silence, but I'm not 
 asking you to speak. I will do the talking and take the 
 punishment. You can just answer by shaking your head. 
 Will you?" 
 
 Still there came no answer. 
 
 At length, as Maria Pia realised the faithful lay-sister 
 could not be urged to enter into this deception, she tore 
 open her door and re-entered her room violently. Throw- 
 ing herself upon her bed, she grasped the crucifix and 
 breviary and hurled them across the room, crying: 
 
 "Dash the great silence. . . . Dash it! Do you hear? 
 And dash Saint Jerome!" 
 
 Then she broke into unrestrained tears, her whole body 
 heaving while she moaned like a creature in pain. 
 
 Sister Amparo stood in the doorway transfixed, shocked 
 beyond expression. In all her life she had never witnessed 
 any such outburst of racking emotion. She picked up the 
 cross and placed it reverently on the washstand and then 
 smoothed out the creased pages of the breviary. Maria Pia, 
 seeing her expression, attempted to beg her pardon. 
 
 The four bronze bells of the convent were named 
 for four saints. Saint Thomas Aquinas, Saint Francis 
 d'Assisi, Saint Benedict and Saint Jerome. The bell which 
 rang announcing the silence was "Saint Jerome." 
 
 "I didn't mean," Maria Pia said, subsiding, while she 
 dried her tears on her frontlet, "that I dashed the real Saint 
 Jerome. I only meant dash the bell or dash the clapper. 
 I'd take it out if I thought I could. I'm sorry. I'll try to 
 be good. But you don't know what it's like, Sister Am- 
 paro, to be all alone. You've got God, but I've got no- 
 body. Come here to me." 
 
 And placing her arms around Sister Amparo, she kissed 
 her on both cheeks. 
 
 It was after midnight that she tapped with her boot
 
 270 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 against the connecting wall between hers and Sister Am- 
 paro's cell. After several minutes the lay-sister appeared 
 in the doorway and lighted her candle. She did not ask 
 any questions. As she saw Maria Pia's convulsed face 
 she understood. She withdrew and returned a little later 
 with the infirmarian, Sister Celestina. 
 
 Maria Pia was rocking with pain. 
 
 The infirmarian sent directly for assistance and another 
 sister came who stood at the foot of the bed watching the 
 patient in her torment. She had never seen this sister 
 before and asked her name. 
 
 "She is Mother Salome," said Sister Celestina. 
 
 Maria Pia began to laugh in a relaxed and foolish way. 
 Her laughter increased after she had repeated the name 
 until the passage rang with it. It was uncontrolled laugh- 
 ter, hysteric, unpleasant. The sisters exchanged glances of 
 distress. Their patient was evidently delirious. 
 
 And then in the midst of her laughter she was clutched 
 in the maw of pains that silenced her. She had not sup- 
 posed it possible for anyone to endure such agony. She 
 felt faint. She thought she was on the verge of losing 
 consciousness. But the longed-for oblivion did not come. 
 The pain racked her through a mist that was enveloping 
 her and her surroundings. She moaned aloud. She felt 
 that the delicate bones of her body were being crushed in 
 the grip of an iron girder. Her teeth bit her pillow. Sister 
 Celestina pressed a handkerchief saturated with ether to 
 her nose. 
 
 She breathed it. She gasped, feeling giddy, reeling. Her 
 hands gripped the iron bar above her head as her last con- 
 tact with realities began to slip from her and she braced 
 herself to endure. ,
 
 XXXII 
 
 MARIA PIA forgot she was a prisoner when she sat in 
 the cloistered garden, to which she was now admitted with 
 the sleeping bundle in her arms. The return of spring, 
 with hours of unbroken warmth, produced a well-being and 
 contentment in which both mother and son thrived. 
 
 The nuns would have wakened the child at all hours to 
 pluck a flower and see him smile had Maria Pia not in- 
 sisted upon discipline. As it was he slept the greater part 
 of the day with only periodic interruptions. The convent 
 was innocent of a cradle but a basket was found wherein 
 he lay on a pillow, with an open umbrella placed above him 
 as protection from the sunlight. And nearby on the stone 
 bench Maria Pia sat, listening to the canaries of the 
 Prioress overhead and watching the flowers expand and 
 bloom in the dazzling sunlight. 
 
 Unprotected from the glare were strange looking, tropi- 
 cal begonias, that seemed to be always thrusting out their 
 tongues, as though making faces. And red lilies that looked 
 like lateen sails. There were beds of blue forget-me-nots 
 above which the red tulip Cardinal lifted scores of goblets 
 as though proposing a toast in blood. There were shocks 
 of colour in bands, Michaelmas daisies, monk's hood and 
 clove pinks surrounded by borders of ribbon grass, and 
 against the convent walls were outspread espaliers where 
 nectarines would later ripen. 
 
 In a circle of water lived a group of goldfish quite tame 
 and always greedy for crumbs. At her approach they darted 
 toward the edge of the basin, each crimson entity seeming 
 the petal of a flower, with which they formed themselves 
 into patterns unknown to the horticulturist, and when grati- 
 fied darted into the depths like a scattering of fugitive 
 flames. 
 
 271
 
 272 
 
 May was the month dedicated to the Blessed Virgin and 
 there were ceremonies and masses every day with the altar 
 vases filled with a succession of Madonna lilies and candles 
 burning at every shrine. There was different jewels upon 
 the hands of the Virgin, her finest diadem upon her brow 
 and the altar cloths exposed were of lace like cobwebs. In 
 the choir the nuns wore their black mantles, and the convent 
 was barefooted, as was the custom of their order, from the 
 first of May until the feast of the exaltation of the Holy 
 Cross in September. 
 
 Pia now joined in all the exercises of the day, medita- 
 tion, recitation of the Divine Office, spiritual exercises, 
 Matins and Lauds which were recited in the evenings. Five 
 strokes of "Saint Thomas Aquinas" were given as a re- 
 minder of the benefits conferred by the Holy Eucharist. 
 
 Pia had never debated what name she would give her 
 child, but almost at once decided upon John. The name 
 was brief, virile and commonplace, all of them excellent at- 
 tributes for a man. At the same time it was non-commit- 
 tal, which in her position was very necessary. It was some 
 time later that she realized it was her father's name, al- 
 though he had elected to be known as "J. de Witte Cass," 
 but the irony of the coincidence afforded her a smile. 
 
 Her plans for leaving the convent had been made several 
 weeks before. They were simple and perhaps less disin- 
 genuous than Mr. Jordan Buel had been led to expect. This 
 was a question which had at no time been absent from 
 her mind since she had taken refuge in the order. She 
 would remain where she was until she felt relatively safe 
 in leaving John. When that time arrived she would draw 
 from her mother's account at Morgan, Harjes et Cie in 
 Paris and come suddenly out into the open. Once more 
 before the public she would explain that she had been stolen 
 and then left unconscious at the convent. Following the 
 shock of this experience her memory had deserted her. 
 The good sisters had allowed her retreat and there she had 
 remained unmolested until a few days since when she had 
 begun to recall her past, her name and family.
 
 273 
 
 This ^vould require acting of a high order but Pia had 
 felt capable to acquit herself of the demands of her situa- 
 tion. Mr. Buel would hasten from America ; they would be 
 married in England, remaining on the continent for sev- 
 eral months. Upon her return, John, still in the custody 
 of some trustworthy woman, would be another passenger, 
 and by this woman be claimed as her own. Later, a year 
 or two years, John would be adopted by Mr. Buel, perhaps 
 as a playmate for a younger child, perhaps because they 
 were without children, as the case might be. 
 
 There were weak spots in this scheme and yet of the 
 many she turned over in her mind it seemed the most rea- 
 sonable. Aphasia was a not infrequent ailment and the 
 convent, never seeing the press, did not know who she was. 
 As to her childbirth, the nuns could be trusted. Secrecy 
 was the mainstay of the order and a confession remained 
 inviolate. 
 
 The only obstacle to this procedure was that she had 
 changed her mind. The great superstructure of fabrication 
 upon which everything had rested suddenly collapsed. Out 
 of its ruins she found herself serene, unharmed. And for 
 some reason which she was powerless to fathom she felt 
 that for the first time she had come into her strength. 
 She had passed through a long and tortured delirium, had 
 at length emerged, laid claim to her identity and found her- 
 self intact. 
 
 The means whereby these results were achieved were still 
 beyond her. At first Mr. Buel had scrupulously upheld his 
 share of the agreement of exchanging letters only once a 
 month. Then as the period of danger drew near he wrote 
 more often until his letters came twice a week and later by 
 almost every post. She was aware that his assurances of 
 love were growing slightly repetitional. After all, there 
 were not many modes of expression whereby a lover could 
 write the woman of his heart that he had kept faith with 
 her, and Mr. Buel seemed to have exhausted them all. 
 
 The climax resulted from his answer to her letter an- 
 nouncing the birth of John. Overjoyed at the safe de-
 
 274 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 livery and her own gain in strength he wrote thtat he would 
 sail for Europe directly. This move was the last step she 
 desired. Pia found herself growing curiously combative 
 toward this element of his of working out his own schemes 
 and expecting her to conform to their requirements as they 
 arose. Her immediate rejoinder was terse : 
 
 "Don't sail. Am writing." 
 
 But the letter which was to follow this message was not 
 a simple one to indite and Pia devoted days to its delibera- 
 tion. A psycho-analysis of which she was conscious but 
 scarcely understood gripped her. It possessed an under- 
 current of mental revulsion that in its intensity warned her 
 was not to be thwarted. All she could do was accept it 
 on its face value as proof that she no longer loved Jordan 
 Buel. 
 
 She could not find any adequate explanation of what had 
 taken place. She had loved him. She no longer loved 
 him. That was all. She could not account for the un- 
 doubted finality of her feelings, since they had been with- 
 out renewals or further contacts. Something had left her 
 and in the place of love was a critical distaste. 
 
 Pia continued to reassure herself that this was a transi- 
 tory state from which she would later on emerge. Young 
 women on the brink of matrimony often had tremors and 
 were victims of emotional vertigo. At least women of a 
 past generation had indulged in such inversions. Was her 
 present indifference anything more? 
 
 And if so, to what did she owe it? Mr. Buel had not 
 changed she knew. A sense of character and a knowledge 
 of values fed upon meditation told her he was not a man 
 who would change. He would remain always very much 
 as he was now, rather young for his age, unimaginative, a 
 little heavy, a trifle settled, fired by her spirit and daring. 
 
 His love for her was not love in her sense but a rather 
 highly coloured preference. He preferred her to any girl 
 he knew. The discrepancy in their ages he was not strik- 
 ingly aware of. A certain boyish quality about him, the 
 result of little depth of thought, would always keep him on
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 275 
 
 an easy footing with her contemporaries. She saw him 
 now for what he was. That her vision was a little cruel 
 was not her fault. Nor was she to blame for having 
 fancied him a man of substance and attainments. He was 
 the only man she had ever known. But her eyes were 
 opened, and the sight of him manifest in the continued 
 tedium of his letters was not to be renewed in the flesh. 
 
 The fact that she no longer loved Jordan Buel did not 
 automatically close the relationship. The predicament was 
 not so simple. She had placed herself in a situation 
 whereby she could not be easily disembarrassed of him. 
 Mr. Buel was ready and waiting to marry her, and each 
 delay would only have the effect of increasing an amatory 
 impatience already excessive. She regretted being the 
 means of causing him pain, but after all he had not been 
 over-careful of her. Yet she bore him no resentment for 
 anything but his persistence in wanting to marry her. 
 
 What means had she of letting him down gradually? 
 How could she give him his conge without being brutal? 
 Though the attachment galled she realised he was in no 
 way to blame for her change of heart. She did not love 
 him and there was nothing to be gained either by corre- 
 spondence or in confronting each other. 
 
 But the further she withdrew the more she knew he 
 would advance. Pia realised that each effort to put him 
 off would only serve to ignite him further. If she told him 
 she no longer loved him he would not believe it. He would 
 wish to argue. He would ask her what had happened. He 
 would have theories, masculine theories, that a woman never 
 ceases to love one man unless she has fallen in love with 
 another. He would declare that once removed from the 
 religious environment his embraces would serve to restore 
 her lost equilibrium. 
 
 And then Pia was amazed by the memory of her mother's 
 intuition. Mrs. Cass had assured her the summer previous 
 when in Paris that she did not love Jordan Buel. She was 
 stunned by the accuracy of her mother's understanding of 
 her ; the intensity of her feeling and its instant recoil.
 
 276 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 What was she to do ? 
 
 Why had she changed? 
 
 The vapidness of regretting past actions was an indul- 
 gence which she had never allowed herself. What was 
 past was past. Nor had she any thought to disinter its 
 ashes. 
 
 Pia felt that she owed Jordan Buel's love every considera- 
 tion. On the other hand she felt an indifference that re- 
 moved him to an outer limbo beyond her abysmal con- 
 tempt. The male who urges the female whom he considers 
 his rightful mate to relinquish herself to him before mar- 
 riage was equally compounded bounder and fool. There 
 was no defence for him since he was lacking in the essen- 
 tials of honour and decency. He had lost her love not 
 through the wrong he had done her, but through the absence 
 of manhood of which he stood convicted ; an all-pervading 
 second-rateness, mental, moral, actual. 
 
 Suddenly through the entanglement there appeared a 
 way out. 
 
 It was slow and tortuous but it led to freedom. She 
 would declare that she had gained a vocation. She had 
 decided to renounce the world and be ordained, binding 
 herself to perpetual enclosure. 
 
 The audacity of the idea startled her. It would insure 
 her of never seeing him, since she would write she had no 
 intention of renewing any friendships in the world. No 
 good could come of good-byes or last interviews as they 
 would only unsettle her now that her resolve had been made. 
 That being so, it was futile for him to come abroad with 
 the intention of urging her to reconsider a decision on which 
 her peace of mind depended. It would also free her from 
 a mass of letters of remonstrance and recrimination since 
 they would not be allowed her. The security of her posi- 
 tion would be unique. 
 
 No such disclosure as this, however, could be flung at him 
 unwarned. Step by step she must prepare him for what 
 was to come. She composed her first letter, begging him 
 to return to the original schedule of writing, as his impor-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 277 
 
 tunity was likely to betray her to detectives. As she loved 
 her child with increasing fervour the mere thought of sepa- 
 rating herself from him, even for a short time to satisfy ex- 
 pediency, was not to be entertained. She knew of no 
 woman in whose care she could trust John. And of what 
 use to maintain her reputation in the world if through this 
 act she was to lose her son? She had therefore reached 
 the conclusion that she must remain with the nuns until 
 John was eight or ten months old, when the dangers of 
 trusting him to a stranger would be minimised. 
 
 Mr. Bud's replies, while expostulatory, realised the 
 soundness of her arguments, so that they spent themselves 
 in the usual regrets and the declaration that he would be 
 waiting for her when the time came. 
 
 In her answer she explained how peaceful the routine of 
 the conventual life had become. It was a solace to her 
 now that the beauty of their rites and abstinence were mani- 
 fest, as she realised herself more attuned to her environ- 
 ment. The nuns were the happiest people in the world and 
 she understood so easily the call of the religious life. 
 
 His answer made no comment to these observations and 
 Pia knew she had gained little headway in her preparations. 
 She wrote more openly that she found her cloistered life 
 among the pleasantest she had ever known. And she ques- 
 tioned if she would ever be as happy elsewhere. 
 
 Mr. Bud's only allusion to these lines was to say she evi- 
 dently had a meagre opinion of matrimonial delights. And 
 he closed with the wager that his first kiss would cause her 
 to forget that she had ever been in a convent. 
 
 She smiled at his fatuity. 
 
 His persistence in not understanding began to annoy. It 
 was discouraging this attitude of his of not realising he had 
 ceased to matter. Was it the fault of Mr. Buel's egotism 
 that he could not grasp the idea that a young woman should 
 pass beyond the stage of loving him? 
 
 She answered bluntly that she would not leave the con- 
 vent when planned. Each day she realised more and more 
 that she possessed a vocation.
 
 278 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Bud's reply was that her "vocation," as she called 
 it, was to make him happy, and it would engage all her 
 attention to do so. He did not seem aware of any anti- 
 climax in this statement. Over-indulgence in religion, he 
 wrote, was intemperance just as much as that of a grosser 
 kind. And then came an obscene reference to a father con- 
 fessor. ... If she had ever thought him second-rate, these 
 lines seemed amply corroborative. 
 
 Pia waited weeks and then wrote she had decided to be 
 "received." She was sorry to tell him but, of course, he 
 had suspected it for months past as he realised her re- 
 luctance to leave the order. She could never see him again, 
 and while she hoped for his forgiveness as she forgave him, 
 any letters beyond his next would be returned by the Rev- 
 erend Mother unopened. 
 
 His letter came. 
 
 It was bitter, ungenerous, full of feeble satire and cow- 
 ardly denunciation. He claimed religion was a new emotion 
 with her and would not last. She would tire of God as she 
 had tired of him and what would be left her then? Where 
 could she turn for succour after imprisoning herself from 
 life? In the meantime, what was to become of him? Or 
 had he no place in her present scheme ? What had he ever 
 done to deserve such neglect ? Wasn't he her rightful hus- 
 band? Hadn't he at all times been tender, chivalrous, af- 
 fectionate ? . . . And was he in payment for a two years' 
 debt of waiting to be thrown over for a religious flirta- 
 tion. . . . The abuse became offensive. . . . 
 
 Later two more letters arrived from him and were re- 
 turned. 
 
 After that was silence. 
 
 The rigours of winter ended ; spring emerged, giving way 
 to a wilting summer. 
 
 In the garden of the Sisters of the Adoration there was 
 no change. The air was heavy with the fragrance of 
 flowers. The water in the fish pond became so warm that 
 the fish were transferred to other quarters. John took his 
 afternoon nap regularly under the shade of a fig tree, and
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 279 
 
 Pia remained faithful, near at hand, in the breathless gar- 
 den continuing a desultory botanising. 
 
 One afternoon toward the end of summer she was seated 
 in her usual haunt, her mind adrift, watching a bee hum- 
 ming toward a campanile of Canterbury bells. The 
 flowers swayed slightly as though to attract him, but he 
 refuted their boldness and sped away to a foxglove. She 
 saw him enter its trumpet masterfully and watched him as 
 he lay on its bosom covering himself with golden pollen in 
 his greed for love. He lay silent as though dead, his antlia 
 driven deep into the heart of the flower. The foxglove 
 began to rock him gently to and fro, thrilled as though with 
 voluptuous enjoyment. Slowly he staggered out of the 
 hood of its sweetness, flexing his legs, then flew away, 
 weak, uncertain, as though drunk with passion. The flower 
 began to close, as though denying itself to others, and a 
 little later a breath of wind blew its hood to the ground; 
 its hour of romance having been fulfilled its life was over. 
 
 Engrossed in this horticultural fancy she noticed the 
 draped bulk of one of the sisters detach itself from the 
 shadow of the cloister and enter the garden. Not wishing 
 to be interrupted in her reverie Pia closed her eyes intend- 
 ing to affect sleep. She knew idleness was deplored, but 
 she was in no mood for either work or prayer. She heard 
 the sister's sandals on the flagged walk and the beads of her 
 rosary click at her side while she moved, and then become 
 silent as she came to a standstill before her. The sister 
 called her by name: 
 
 "Maria Pia !" 
 
 Opening her eyes she looked up Into the unruffled face of 
 Mother Salome. 
 
 "You shouldn't be p.sleep here. I'm afraid you will have 
 sunstroke." 
 
 Her voice of seeming solicitude Pia ; nstinctively dis- 
 trusted. She was conscious of inharmonious vibrations and 
 knew that she and Mother Salome were marked for -en- 
 mity. 
 
 "Were you one of those who spent the night in prayer?'*
 
 28o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "No, Mother Salome." 
 
 "I can't think what makes you so tired." 
 
 "Probably because I am not thoroughly accustomed to the 
 life." 
 
 Mother Salome remained standing before her in the atti- 
 tude usual among sisters, each hand hidden in the full sleeve 
 of the other arm. Her expression was judicial. 
 
 "My dear daughter, that is exactly what I want to talk 
 to you about. How long have you been at the convent ?" 
 
 She felt a sudden uprush of fear as. she realised the 
 readiness of her reply had helped to precipitate this ques- 
 tion. She had always known that this was an eventuality 
 which must some day be faced, but with the passing of 
 months without allusion to it, it had of late gone from her 
 memory. She returned Mother Salome's calm scrutiny. 
 
 "Two years and five months," she said. 
 
 "Precisely my own calculations, daughter. You entered 
 with the idea of joining the order, did you not ?" 
 
 "Certainly, Mother Salome." 
 
 "Well, my daughter, you have had more than time enough 
 to search your heart. Have you decided to take the vows ?" 
 
 Pia did not remove her eyes from the inscrutable face 
 before her. The thought of taking the vow of stability like 
 the rest of the order and later separating herself from her 
 boy filled her with terror. Mother Salome did not move 
 but remained before her waiting her reply. 
 
 "I am listening, my daughter." 
 
 "Yes and no." 
 
 "I thought so. And just what does that reply mean?" 
 
 "It means, dear Mother, that all the spiritual side of me 
 rejoices in the peace and sanctity of the enclosure. . . . 
 But the other side. . . ." 
 
 "The other side is the evil of your nature. That must be 
 fought and overcome. Pray to God that you may increase 
 in grace and humility before His eyes and be deemed worthy 
 to be a bride of the Lord." 
 
 "As it happens the other side of my nature is my mother* 
 hood."
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 281 
 
 For a moment Mother Salome was silenced, and then 
 continued earnestly: 
 
 "I think the Reverend Mother explained to you that 
 this was not an active order, so that you entered under no 
 misapprehension. I can't think what would be the opinion 
 of the Mother House if it was understood that you came 
 here for other than religious purposes. You know you 
 have been granted special indulgence, and I can only say 
 that I shall insist that the question of your remaining is put 
 to the vote at the next chapter. That will take place in a 
 week. And I may say I am confident of the result." 
 
 "That will mean my eviction?" 
 
 "It will mean you must make an immediate choice be- 
 tween the order and the world. I am not charging you, my 
 daughter, with attempting to hoodwink the sisters. But 
 you knew the monastic ideal before entering, and you have 
 no reason for shilly-shallying. You have a vocation or 
 you haven't. In either way your future is cut out for 
 you." 
 
 Having spoken Mother Salome continued on her way and 
 Pia remained a prey to depression. She had put off the evil 
 hour, but the decision could not be postponed any longer. 
 
 If she left the convent with John she would be recognized 
 almost at once. That would mean a reconstruction of all 
 that had taken place, peccant, degrading, incontestable. All 
 the actualities of the last three years laid bare ; newspapers 
 would gloat over the items ; the cinema depict her struggles. 
 All the channels of vulgarity to which America had access 
 would be placed at her disposal. But even though she had 
 sufficient bravado to face press and public, where could 
 she go ? She could not return home even though she were 
 willing to so humble herself. She knew her father would 
 not offer her shelter unless married. A curious sensation 
 of pulse and nerves told her that Jordan Buel could not be 
 tolerated even though he were still willing to have her. 
 
 It meant branding John with a disgrace he could never 
 in later life throw off, a sensational illegitimacy. It meant 
 reducing her mother, Annis and Roscoe to objects of specu-
 
 282 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 lation of the morbidly curious. And she herself would act 
 as buffer to the advances of the criminal and obscene. 
 Decidedly no, such a release was not possible. 
 
 To remain meant taking permanent vows, sacrificing her- 
 self to a life of silence and drudgery. Already the regular 
 practice of offices filled her undisciplined nature with revolt. 
 She appreciated the piety of the nuns, motivated by God 
 without thought or inclination of their own, passing through 
 emotionless days, where prayers came automatically to their 
 lips, and the wooden rosary slipped mechanically through 
 their calloused hands. Nor was that all. It meant relin- 
 quishing all claim to John; not seeing him; not knowing 
 life; no longer feeling the pulse of the world. It meant 
 living, perhaps, until eighty like the sister in the infirmary, 
 and then dying only because the habit of life had run down. 
 
 The hand she placed to her brow was wet. Her nerves 
 were jangling. The decision seemed already beyond her 
 power to act. Life imprisonment in the order ; public dis- 
 grace in the world. Both were equally repellent, and she 
 knew she could steer no middle course. 
 
 Two hours later Pia had not moved when the bell rang 
 for Vespers and Benediction.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Six months passed without incident. 
 
 Maria Pia never knew if Mother Salome put her threat 
 into practice and it was defeated; or if she hesitated to 
 make her views known to the Prioress, since the Reverend 
 Mother had not interrogated her on that subject. The lat- 
 ter view was the more likely. All of the sisters stood in 
 the greatest awe of Mother Espiritu, an awe to which Maria 
 Pia herself subscribed. 
 
 For days Pia remained ill with dread. As she filed in 
 and out of the chapel her step hurried in passing Mother 
 Salome, her head always bent so as not to meet her eyes. 
 She was occupied now every moment of the day, her one 
 effort being to seem as self-effacive as possible. But she 
 could not suppose herself lost among the thirty sisters 
 since she was not yet "clothed" and was conscious that her 
 grey dress marked her apart from the habit of the others. 
 The sisters wore a black robe, their scapular, mantle and 
 veil white and upon their breasts a copper image. 
 
 In the refectory the Prioress recited grace with responses 
 from the sisters, following which the reader ascended to 
 the high reading desk and read aloud verses of Holy Scrip- 
 ture. This finished, all responded Deo Gratias and each 
 took her accustomed seat. Mother Espiritu sat on a rush- 
 bottomed chair at the head of the table and Mother Salome 
 at the foot with the sisters and novices ranged along be- 
 tween on low forms, the latter with the novice mistress. 
 The walls of the refectory were unadorned except by an 
 image of the Sacred Bambino under a glass globe beneath 
 which a tallow dip burned in a cup. On the long uncovered 
 deal table were set their tin cups and plates, and the noise; 
 of them and the novices' shrill voices, now allowed their 
 apportionment of speech, were deafening. 
 
 283
 
 284 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 Pia kept her eyes on her plate during meals, never asked 
 for more and glanced only furtively at the foot of the table. 
 She could give no explanation of Mother Salome's silence. 
 At times it seemed to her that she might, all unconsciously, 
 have made a friend of the Reverend Mother. But during 
 supper she had often noticed ire in her eyes, when the 
 voices became too loud, and she hammered on the table 
 with her wooden gavel to restore order. At such times she 
 was aware that Mother Espiritu possessed a temper like a 
 black fire which burned within, consuming her even while 
 she remained outwardly controlled. And when she ex- 
 changed glances with the Superior her eyes sparkled like 
 ice in the sun and were no more sympathetic. 
 
 A lay-sister served them at meals and if guilty of 9.ny 
 misdemeanor had, as her penance, to eat her supper off the 
 floor in full view of the refectory. This was a penance 
 which Pia had sometimes, in a nightmare, dreamt she had to 
 perform. Supper was composed of bread and wine, some- 
 times artichokes or lettuces from the garden and nuts and 
 figs, and in the middle of the day there was a dish part 
 potage, part stew, not unlike the French working man's 
 pot-au-feu but more highly seasoned. The food was ex- 
 cellent but scanty. Following this grace was repeated and 
 they once more filed out. 
 
 After supper one of them recited the Litany of Our Lady 
 and later came recreation which, as the evenings were now 
 fine, was passed out of doors in the courtyard or cloistered 
 garden. 
 
 Recreation was not an hour that Pia looked forward to 
 unless allowed to wander alone in the kitchen garden. Here 
 frogs and crickets took up their song, and she could enjoy 
 the fragrance of the evening air in peace and perhaps ex- 
 change a few remarks with Hipolito. She liked to watch 
 the fenestration of the convent take on shape as each win- 
 dow revealed a light and oblongs of colour appeared 
 through the dark. It could not be said that she found the 
 sisters "companionable." There was always a certain jeal- 
 ousy as to who should accompany the Reverend Mother
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 285 
 
 on her tour of the garden, which she usually settled by 
 making it alone. Pia admired her temperance, her serenity 
 and goodness, and above all her brain. Mother Salome too 
 she might have cared for had the sister not been otherwise 
 disposed toward her. Sister Amparo was always at work 
 and the other sisters seemed equally divided between two 
 types : those who were so intent upon saving their souls 
 that they took little account of what passed about them; 
 and the second or more ordinary type, the good, rather 
 stupid sisters who went through life without an idea and 
 were too mentally deficient to interest an intelligent and 
 spirited girl. These sisters represented the ruck of an 
 order, slow, faithful, painstaking. 
 
 The novices were just a group of chattering children, up- 
 setting with foolish effusions that bored her. Pia found 
 there was conventual "small talk" just as there had been 
 in the world only this seemed even more banal and bore- 
 some. 
 
 During this time John grew, developed and showed signs 
 of soon outgrowing his environment. Pia had supposed 
 he would be very like his father but by some untoward cir- 
 cumstance he seemed, day by day, to resemble her more 
 closely, in colouring, feature and expression. He was so ap- 
 parently her own flesh and blood she could never adopt him 
 as the offspring of another and expect to convince even the 
 most credulous. 
 
 It was on Shrove Tuesday that the blow descended. 
 
 It was now so long since Mother Salome had had her talk 
 that Pia had given it little thought for some weeks. Judg- 
 ing herself immune she had gone about her business, mo- 
 mentarily happy when she forgot the future in the health 
 and contentment of her boy who so far had not suffered in 
 the conditions of his birth. 
 
 Pia had tied up her skirt and had been weeding flower 
 beds and had gone to the dispensary for some sulphur to 
 protect some of the delicate begonias against insects, when 
 she was stopped in the passage by Sister Blanca. Sister 
 Blanca was in the corridor, carrying supplies of fresh linen
 
 286 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 that had been dried over the lavender bushes and were fra- 
 grant of its flowers. Her manner was strangly excited. 
 
 "You are wanted at once, Maria Pia," she said. "I've 
 just been to your cell." 
 
 "By whom?" 
 
 "The Reverend Mother. She is waiting for you in her 
 sitting-room. There are visitors in the parlor." 
 
 "Visitors?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who are they?" 
 
 "I don't know. How should I ? They are two men." 
 
 Pia's heart fell. 
 
 What two men out of all the world had come to see her, 
 she could not imagine. Yet she scented catastrophe. It 
 was useless to ask Sister Blanca to describe, for beyond the 
 fact of their being men the simple lay sister was useless as 
 expositor. Pia had the shrewdness to make her way to 
 Mother Espiritu's sitting-room through the garden and so 
 avoid passing the open parlour door. 
 
 The Prioress was not in the habit of being kept waiting ; 
 there was no time for her to formulate any plan. It was 
 Jordan Buel who had come for her, probably with his law- 
 yer. She did not feel that Mr. Buel was a particularly for- 
 midable opponent. And if he thought to force her to leave 
 the convent he would find her will as indomitable as his 
 own. With thfs thought Pia tapped on the Prioress's door 
 who bade her enter. 
 
 The perfect order of her sitting-room had a calming effect 
 upon Helena. Nothing could go wrong, it seemed to her, in 
 surroundings of such spotless disposition. There were 
 bowls on her writing-table filled with rose petals gathered 
 from last summer which gave out a faint scent, and on the 
 ledge of the open window was an apple stuck with cloves 
 which added spice to the current of air that crept in from 
 the garden. 
 
 Mother Espiritu remained motionless, her repose scarcely 
 less than that of the plaster Virgin. 
 
 "Come in my daughter," she said.
 
 287 
 
 Pia closed the door behind her obediently and advanced 
 to the centre of the room. Though her face was resolute 
 her eyes suggested fright. 
 
 "There are two men here who wish to speak to you " 
 
 "Tome?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But I think you know, mother, that I do not wish to see 
 anyone from the world." 
 
 "I know, my dear. But this is different. Mother Sa- 
 lome tells me they are detectives. They are searching for a 
 young woman who is lost in the world. But what is the 
 matter?" 
 
 It was the expression of blind terror that crossed Pia's 
 face that made the Superior pause. Her nerves had tricked 
 her. Her resistance was gone. 
 
 "Sit down, my dear." 
 
 She indicated the chair before her. Pia's knees were no 
 longer able to support her. She had risen early that morn- 
 ing, her breakfast had been of the slightest, and part of the 
 night had been passed in prayer. In the Order of the Per- 
 petual Adoration, someone of the sisters was always at 
 prayer in the chapel, in which way the continuous supplica- 
 tion had not been broken in over a hundred years. And of 
 late Pia had taken her place with the others, often rising 
 at midnight to relieve a sister who had prayed through the 
 earlier hours. 
 
 The Reverend Mother watched her shrewdly now as she 
 spoke, her eyes unfathomable, her face without animation 
 but for the slightly moving lips. 
 
 "The detectives have received permission to investigate 
 the convents of Spain. The country, only too anxious to 
 lift any impression of complicity, has allowed them to make 
 positive that the young woman is not hidden. They have 
 already seen everyone in the Convent but you, my daugh- 
 ter." " 
 
 There was a pause. Maria Pia moistened her lips. She 
 was about to say something and then decided it was useless. 
 The room was revolving about her. She supposed that these
 
 288 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 were men anxious to win her father's reward and she had 
 always fancied the sanctity of the cloister was unassailable 
 against investigation. 
 
 At length she broke out: 
 
 "This is Mother Salome's doing. She has never liked 
 me. She has attempted in other ways to bring about my 
 removal. But they were not effectual and so she has taken 
 more drastic steps." 
 
 "My daughter, your attack upon Mother Salome is totally 
 without provocation, and I cannot allow you to make any 
 such remarks upon so excellent and blameless a member of 
 our order. Mother Salome is in no way connected with the 
 visit of the detectives." 
 
 "Then why have they come here ?" 
 
 "I can't answer for that." 
 
 "But Mother Salome has seen them?" 
 
 "Certainly, at my request. All of the sisters have been 
 summoned and appeared in the parlour before them. You 
 are the only one they have not seen. They are looking for 
 an American girl who is thought to have been stolen." 
 
 "Of course. And Mother Salome has told them there's 
 one here who corresponds to their descriptions. She has 
 given me away to them. It's unjust. It's . . . it's criminal. 
 For months I've done the very best that I could to serve 
 God and maintain the dignity of the order. I worked and 
 prayed. I have fasted with the others. There isn't a rule 
 I haven't followed no matter how hard it came. Do you 
 think Mother Salome noticed? If she did it only irritated 
 her. She thinks I'm different from the others and she 
 wants me to go. I've always known that was her real dis- 
 position and that we were enemies from the very first. 
 Hatred is evil enough from me, but how much worse is it 
 in a sister of professed vows ?" 
 
 "I shall exact penance from you for such wicked thoughts, 
 Maria Pia, and for your unrestrained speech. You must re- 
 member where you are. I don't allow such charges. Mo- 
 ther Salome has told them nothing. They know the sisters 
 and the novices only by their names in the order, not
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 289 
 
 those in the world. They do not know there is an American 
 girl here yet. But they are waiting for you there, in the 
 parlour. They will not leave until they have seen you. So 
 go in to them now." 
 
 Her voice as she spoke was colder than Pia had ever 
 known it and each word possessed an edge. And the ex- 
 pression of her eyes, which had seemed veiled upon her en- 
 trance, now glowed. There was a slight colour in her cheeks, 
 the pale flame of anger. She knew that by her uncertain 
 temper she had accomplished nothing except that she had 
 turned the Prioress against her. She and Mother Salome 
 were not closely attuned and the latter was jealous of the 
 Prioress's power, but the Reverend Mother, if cold, was at 
 least just and she would permit no abuse. 
 
 Pia held to the back of the chair; she cast an appealing 
 glance at the Superior, but her eyes were on the ivory cruci- 
 fix and she knew she could obtain no comfort. She had, 
 at different times during the past two years of her incarcera- 
 tion, expected this to happen and now at last she was found 
 out. She managed to pull herself to her feet. She steadied 
 herself against the physical whirling that was reflected in 
 her brain. Her head seemed light and bloodless. She felt 
 all at once as immaterial as a feather. 
 
 It was her hour. She would face it. She was saying 
 good-bye to everything a decent woman cherishes. Reti- 
 cence, anonymity, the pleasures of a retired and respected 
 life would be cabled to the uttermost quarters of the globe. 
 She was to be established as notorious, infamous, peccant. 
 If that was the order she would take her lashings with her 
 head up. With her eyes raised, her underlip held firm 
 against her teeth, she crossed the room, placed her hand on 
 the knob and turned it. 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 It was the Reverend Mother who spoke. 
 
 For a moment she remained irresolute. Then she turned. 
 The Prioress had risen, the expression on her face was one 
 she had never seen before. Her swift dexterous fingers had 
 torn at her habit, unbuttoning the neck band, loosening the
 
 2 9 o SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 cord about her waist. While Maria Pia remained stunned 
 the Prioress had removed the black habit, her scapular and 
 veil. 
 
 "Be quick," she said as Pia stood motionless watching 
 her. "Give me your dress and cap. And put on mine." 
 
 "But Reverend Mother," Pia repeated aghast. 
 
 "Don't speak. Obey me." 
 
 Silently she unbuttoned Pia's dress. A moment later she 
 had assumed it and covered her head with the cap. Pia, 
 understanding at last her intentions, lay hold of the dis- 
 carded habit with the reverend hands of a sinner allowed to 
 touch a divine relic. 
 
 "Go into the chapel. Remain at prayer before the altar 
 until I give my consent for you to leave." 
 
 Without another word Mother Espiritu opened the door 
 that admitted to the convent parlour and went in to face the 
 questions of the American detective and his interpreter. 
 
 In the chapel Pia threw herself upon the altar steps and 
 broke into a torrent of tears. She felt utterly unworthy 
 of the sacrifice which the Reverend Mother was making. 
 For her sake this saintly woman, who had never lied in her 
 life, was repudiating her position. She who for many years 
 had held to the Strict Observance, and who had not con- 
 versed with any man of the world except through a grating 
 while she remained unseen, was now answering their ques- 
 tions and answering them untruthfully. Knowing the*Rev- 
 erend Mother's abhorrence of lies, she wondered what pen- 
 ance she could ever do that would satisfy her against her 
 present action. She had the temperament of a cenobite 
 and, finding her own order too relaxed to satisfy her aspir- 
 ing spirit, she had inflicted upon herself observances fol- 
 lowed only by the Discalced Carmelites, even while she had 
 advised the sisters not to follow her example. And it was 
 she who, renouncing her clothing for the dress of the world, 
 now stood before the detectives and endeavored to satisfy 
 their curiosity. 
 
 Pia remained shaken by emotion. The reaction which 
 had set in was so strong that she already regretted the Su-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 291 
 
 perlor's sacrifice. She knew the Prioress would attempt 
 to atone for her deed for months to come with abstention 
 and mortification. The objective of years she felt had been 
 swept away by these lies, and from the depths of her har- 
 assed soul Pia cried out : 
 
 "Amiable Mother, help to make me worthy of this great 
 and undeserved sacrifice. Help me never to forget in the 
 years to come this action of the saintly mother. May I 
 never again be unhappy and dissatisfied or irreligious who 
 have received so great a proof of love, affection and self- 
 lessness. Twice has the Reverend Mother saved me frorrr 
 disgrace, and may I, by becoming worthy of her action, 
 repay her, however poorly, for her goodness, sanctity and 
 saintliness. Never again shall I doubt the power of religion 
 or speak with impatience of those who consecrate their 
 lives to God." 
 
 She remained prostrate on the altar steps, her sobs dimin- 
 ishing, her entire consciousness abased. She did not lift her 
 head, and though words had left her, her prayer continued 
 in the force of her oblation, that was now expressed in pal- 
 pitant waves of thankfulness that thrilled. Had the Rev- 
 erend Mother asked her then to take the vows she would 
 have done so without objection. 
 
 At that moment steps were heard outside on the stone 
 floor. It was the Prioress with the detective and the Span- 
 ish interpreter. 
 
 "We have seen all the inmates of the convent now ?" 
 
 "All." 
 
 Pia realised they were watching her and did not move. 
 
 "And you can swear that the American girl is not among 
 them?" 
 
 "Naturally I swear to nothing. You have seen them all. 
 If you have not found her she cannot be here." 
 
 "May I speak to the Superior ?" 
 
 "No. She is at prayer as you see and is not to be dis- 
 turbed. If I can be of no further service to you, you will' 
 excuse me."
 
 292 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Thank you, sister. The American says he is very sorry 
 to have troubled you. Good day." 
 
 "Good day." 
 
 Pia did not raise her head until she felt the Prioress's 
 hand upon her shoulder. Then she rose swiftly, made her 
 way across the passage to Mother Espiri s sitting-room. 
 
 The detectives had gone. The great moment of excite- 
 ment had been passed without mishap. Pia, always im- 
 pulsive and emotionally inclined, felt her eyes filling again. 
 In a moment she was once more quivering. She threw her- 
 self on her knees and kissed the Prioress's hand while cov- 
 ering it with scalding tears. 
 
 "Reverend Mother how can I repay you?" 
 
 "By thrusting hate out of your heart, my child. By be- 
 ing utterly ashamed of your wicked tongue and your re- 
 marks about Mother Salome. She has never been what you 
 say but a zealous server of the Lord." 
 
 "I'll ask her pardon." 
 
 "It is not necessary. Merely learn to pray." 
 
 "I'll take my vows whenever you wish, Reverend 
 Mother." 
 
 "Not for the present. Now rise. And put on your 
 dress." 
 
 The Prioress had disengaged her hand from Pia's fervent 
 grip and removed her garments with a certain distaste as 
 though she could not reclaim her own clothing quickly 
 enough. As she stepped out of it in her sleeved camisole 
 cut modestly high in the neck, Pia looked with pity at the 
 beauty of bared throat. The line was pure white and with- 
 out break where the neck gained the shoulder, and the small, 
 beautifully formed head, little ears and clear, ascetic profile 
 now seen in their beauty for the first time. The Prioress 
 appeared oddly shy and like a school-girl under Pia's scru- 
 tiny, ashamed of her thick hair, now mutilated, cut short to 
 her head and turning the color of wood ashes. 
 
 Pia remembered what Hipolito, the half-witted gar- 
 dener, had told her, that Mother Espiritu was of the aris- 
 tocracy of Spain and belonged to one of its proudest fami-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 293 
 
 lies. She had entered the convent as a girl and taken the 
 heaviest vows. Pia had once asked Sister Amparo if this 
 were so and she had told her it was an unwritten law of 
 the convent never to speak the name by which one was 
 known in the world, or to give any information about one 
 of the sisterhood. Mother Espiritu was Mother Espiritu 
 and that was all that one need know. 
 
 As she watched the Prioress assume her clothing she 
 knew the gardener's speech was more than possible. He 
 had said she was a Duquessa. And Pia had at all times 
 been aware of the woman of breeding as well as of sanc- 
 tity. 
 
 "Reverend Mother," she said, "will you tell me why you 
 have done this thing?" 
 
 The Prioress had replaced scapular and veil and now 
 seemed infinitely more at ease. No longer a shy woman, 
 but one of good works, fearless, of power, with the rank of 
 a grandee of Spain. 
 
 "I wanted to keep open the opportunity for you to go 
 back into the world, my daughter, if possible without dis- 
 grace." 
 
 "But how how did you know?" 
 
 The Prioress was seated before her writing-table; her 
 dark glowing eyes looked through the supplicant before her 
 as though through a glass, but she gave no answer. Pia 
 had never seen a newspaper in the cloister yet she felt that 
 Mother Espiritu had never been in doubt as to her identity. 
 
 "But why did you think I wished to return ?" 
 
 "Because you have not a vocation. I would be both blind 
 and wilful if I were to pretend you had." 
 
 "Then you do not wish me here ?" 
 
 "You belong in the world." 
 
 "Mother, you understand everything. How do you read 
 me so well ?" 
 
 There was a pause. The Prioress' eyes travelled over 
 the garden and when she answered she did not look at Pia. 
 
 "Because," she said gently, "you and I are very much 
 alike. I have no vocation, either. I entered the convent
 
 294 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 when very young, and having made a mistake I took oath 
 to myself that I would not fail. I have endured years of 
 fighting, but the Lord has listened to me and for some time 
 now I have been resigned to the life. I pray and strive 
 never to be one of the indolent members of the order, and 
 when in fear of it I exercise fresh mortification of the 
 spirit. But I wouldn't have you repeat my experience. 
 You are younger than I am." 
 
 "But you're happy now ?" Pia asked. 
 
 "I am at peace." 
 
 "I don't know how I could have permitted you to make 
 this sacrifice, Reverend Mother. You are always going to 
 regret it. I can't blame myself enough." 
 
 The Prioress smiled, and her expression was more heart- 
 breaking than any tears Pia had ever seen. 
 
 "I did what seemed to me best. Every truth is not to be 
 applauded, my daughter, and every lie is not to be punished. 
 Now go about your offices." 
 
 Pia left the sitting-room, feeling numb as though every 
 portion of her body had been exposed to a merciless flagel- 
 lation. She remained at once the most humble and pains- 
 taking aspirant of the order. 
 
 To Pia, who was easily encouraged, it seemed that hav- 
 ing won the partisanship of Mother Espiritu that life in 
 the cloister would not be so difficult to endure. It had been 
 the total absence of companionship or distraction hereto- 
 fore that had palled. But since she had so intelligent and 
 sympathetic a friend time would pass rapidly. 
 
 When the day of celebrating the Mass of Saint Trinidad 
 arrived Pia thought to speak to Mother Espiritu following 
 vespers. She had not seen the Superior since Shrove Tues- 
 day to speak to and she regretted having no further words 
 about what had passed. At vespers they followed the office 
 of Saint Trinidad which began with psalm, lesson and 
 hymn, followed by a Canticle, prayer and responsory. 
 Mother Espiritu's voice while intoning was warm, a deep 
 contralto, and the plain chant delivered by Mother Salome 
 was in her high unmelodic voice. When it was over they
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 295 
 
 filed out two by two. As Pia passed the Reverend Mother 
 she hesitated and the Superior's eyes rested on her. But 
 her face was totally without expression ; Pia had often seen 
 it before, the eyes without recognition. She passed by 
 without even a sign of having known her and Pia realised 
 that any dreams of companionship which she had enter- 
 tained were fruitless. For a moment only Mother Espiritu 
 had raised her veil and the Prioress and the applicant had 
 been women together. That moment had passed and would 
 not return. In the future Maria Pia would be in no way 
 separated from the others, merely one of the flock striving 
 for soul's salvation. 
 
 Dissatisfied and still unconvinced Pia strove to attract the 
 Prioress to her again by adding to her duties. She studied 
 needlework diligently, continued her care in the garden, 
 plucking the most beautiful blooms and arranging the altar 
 vases. Surely Mother Espiritu saw the difference in her 
 assembling of bouquets to those tight little withered nose- 
 gays which Sister Blanca plucked. But if she did she gave 
 no sign of approval and Pia, who lacked constancy and con- 
 centration unless they called forth some form of approba- 
 tion, became tired and once more relapsed into listlessness. 
 
 The confines of conventual life became more rigid and 
 irksome. Her thoughts strayed more frequently to the 
 idea of freedom and independence. The occasional letters 
 from her family which were all she encouraged were now 
 read with ever increasing avidity. But when her restless 
 spirit was in its most recalcitrant mood she could think of 
 John playing at her feet and realise the obstacle to freedom. 
 There was no return to the world possible for her with 
 John, now that his resemblance was branded in every fea- 
 ture. And without him the world would be a wilderness. 
 At such times the realisation of her entrapment was com- 
 plete. 
 
 She had come that afternoon to the convent graveyard 
 and looked at the neat little mounds, not unlike the narrow, 
 uncomfortable beds within, each spread with a coverlet of 
 sod. Yes, this was where she would one day be laid to
 
 296 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 rest when her disobedient and reckless spirit was at last 
 curbed forever. She sat down on one of the mounds with 
 her arm around John, her mind straying back to the past, 
 as she had for some time since ceased to look into the fu- 
 ture. It was just a question now how long before she 
 yielded to this inner battle and admitted herself conquered. 
 
 With tear-filled eyes she cried impatiently: "I don't 
 regret it! I don't regret it!" and tightened her hold upon 
 her son as though in that way to ask his forgiveness for the 
 gifts that had been withheld him. She remained until sun- 
 set, then recalling her duties she made her way back to her 
 cell. In her room she threw herself before the brass cruci- 
 fix murmuring : 
 
 "Miserere mei, Domine."
 
 XXXIV 
 
 THE sister's voice from behind her impenetrable veil con- 
 tinued even, monotonous, deliberative. Half-formulated 
 hopes, urgent, clamourous, claimed Sefton's mind; made 
 him wish to know only certain facts, but the emotionless 
 voice was not interrupted, and he allowed her to go on 
 until she reached a full stop. 
 
 "You don't mean," he cried, "that Miss Cass has become 
 one of the order?" 
 
 She hesitated, as though unaccustomed to replying to 
 questions. But presently she answered. 
 
 "No, I don't mean that." 
 
 "She's alive?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then can she be told at once that I am here. If she 
 refuses to see me I will admit myself defeated. Of course, 
 her first impulse will be to refuse. But if you tell her my 
 reasons for coming, that will make a difference. And, after 
 all," he added, "I know the only thing you wish for her is 
 happiness." 
 
 "Yes, I wish only happiness for her." 
 
 "Then will my message be sent at once?" 
 
 "No, not at once." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "She is no longer here." 
 
 "Miss Cass has left the convent?" 
 
 "Yes, six months ago." 
 
 "Is she married?" 
 
 The sister shook her head. Before those in the order 
 she might be severe. Sefton felt indisputably that she 
 would be, but in the company of those of the world she 
 was almost humble. 
 
 "Tell me where she is now." 
 
 297
 
 298 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "I can't do so without permission." 
 
 She rose and left the room, to consult Mother Espiritu, 
 he supposed. He began to pace the little parlour. He moved 
 to the window and looked out, and then back to the door. 
 A moment later, hearing the sister's heavy footsteps in her 
 rope sandals, he seated himself before her bulk filled the 
 door. She removed a strip of paper from her sleeve and 
 mutely offered it to him. In a delicate and exact hand, an 
 address had been traced across it, the ink blotted with col- 
 oured sand. He read : "Sefiora Rosita Guzman y Morales, 
 Calle Major, San Anselmo, Huesca." 
 
 "What name is this?" he asked. 
 
 "The senorita is known under that name at present." 
 
 For a moment he doubted if there had not been some 
 mistake. Was this one more cul-de-sac, on which he was 
 embarking after so many .weeks of suspense and disap- 
 pointment ? Could Rosita be Miss Cass ? He consulted the 
 paper once more. Suddenly it seemed more likely. Hel- 
 ena's fine sense of histrionics would not permit her to take 
 an undistinguished name, and there was irony in this 
 choice. 
 
 "Whom have I to thank for this intervention?" 
 
 The sister lowered her head slightly. 
 
 "No importa," she replied. 
 
 "But it is to me," he averred. "It makes all the differ- 
 ence in the world. You have been a friend to Miss Cass, 
 and to me in putting all thoughts of creed and your order 
 aside and thinking only of our future. Can't I know your 
 name ?" 
 
 She shook her head. He knew that keeping their identities 
 unacknowledged by the world was one of the regulations, 
 but he felt that her mind, curiously non-subjective, was 
 embarrassed by any direct appeal. 
 
 "Whom shall I thank?" he asked. 
 
 "Jesu, Maria y Jose," she said simply. 
 
 He put his hand in his pocket, removed some bills, and 
 placed them on the parlour table. He saw as he made this
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 299 
 
 gesture that her hands met within her loose sleeves. He 
 thought she was about to refuse his present. 
 
 "I hope this will be of some use to the order," he said. 
 "If all goes well this is not the last time you will hear from 
 me. It can be used for charity, or as you wish." 
 
 The sister rang the silver bell again and the portress 
 appeared. She spoke to her a moment in an undertone. 
 Sister Natividad went away and returned carrying a col- 
 oured drink in a thick tumbler on a tray. She offered it 
 to the stranger. 
 
 "You will have a warm journey before you," the sister 
 said by way of invitation. 
 
 Sefton accepted the glass, drank the tisane obediently 
 but without pleasure and then replaced it on the table. 
 
 "May Mary Most Pure guard you," she said. 
 
 Then he turned and followed Sister Natividad to the 
 door, she unlatched it, and he stepped out from the cool 
 twilight into the dazzling sun of early afternoon. 
 
 On his way back to the village Sefton speculated on the 
 identity of the sister who had remained kindly, inflexible 
 and anonymous. Of course she had not been the prioress, 
 so to whom had he spoken? In a moment he realised that 
 beyond doubt she was Mother Salome. No one else would 
 have made the statements she had to her own detriment. 
 It would have been an act of disloyalty not easily con- 
 doned upon the part of another sister. And at this ex- 
 planation he marvelled at the austerity of these lonely 
 women in their self-immolation, so kindly in their attitude 
 toward their devotions, so pitiless in their flagellation of 
 their own pride. She had humilated herself toward a 
 stranger as a means of penance for past sins. 
 
 He explained to the friendly innkeeper his need of 
 leaving Trinidad at once. He and all his family escorted 
 him to the door and stood there waving farewell as he was 
 driven away. An hour later he had boarded the train 
 which was carrying him to Lila. 
 
 It was one early afternoon that Sefton obtained his first 
 glimpse of San Anselmo. The hill town had fastened it-
 
 300 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 self upon the flank of the mountain, finding a foothold on 
 its precipitous side like the depository of some nest which 
 a courageous yet wary bird had attempted to conceal. The 
 lower reaches were cultivated with olives, the trees cen- 
 turies old, their thick stems twisted and interlaced, each 
 crowned with silky grey verdure. They grew in irregular 
 ranks, covering the inclines with undulations of a single 
 tone of grey in which the brilliant afternoon sunlight wa- 
 vered in folds of heat. 
 
 Sefton put down his field-glasses after a moment's scru- 
 tiny and contented himself with seeing only what the eye 
 took in unaided. This was the experience of a lifetime, and, 
 in spite of the thrumming excitement, he felt the elation 
 of the connoisseur of life who quaffs slowly that he may 
 savour every mouthful. The carter addressed occasional 
 monosyllables to his burro, as they rattled over the care- 
 lessly paved road in their bobbing tartana. 
 
 Lush grass grew rank on each side of the roadway and 
 the slopes were spread with broom and yellow gorse and 
 before them raced a stream from the snow-covered Pyre- 
 nees. As they approached the bridge which spanned the 
 hurrying water, Sefton noticed Arabic characters still de- 
 cipherable in the arch. He found himself wondering how 
 much of the engineering done in his own country would 
 remain intact after centuries of use. 
 
 After a few minutes they drew up in the shadow of a 
 tamarind tree; the peasant felt beneath the seat for the 
 wine skin, and, after offering it to the traveller, took a 
 deep draught. 
 
 "Holy Mother !" he cried to the sweating burro. "Would 
 you have me draw you, myself. . . . Anda burro." . . . 
 
 And they continued an unhurried pace. His jubilation 
 was not to be contained. The certainty that he was about 
 to see Helena increased with every half-mile. Nowhere 
 could anyone be safer from detection, since even the dia- 
 lect spoken was unintelligible to one understanding only 
 Castilian. The nearest train was a journey of several miles 
 distance. Strangers never came here, though it was one
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 301 
 
 of the loveliest corners of Spain, with its history of Iberian, 
 Roman and Arabic occupation ; traits of each race had left 
 their stamp upon the present people, charming and un- 
 spoilt by any contact with European civilization. The 
 town of San Anselmo was to be found only in tne largest 
 and most detailed maps; as none of the roads were prac- 
 ticable for touring, the chances were the best that she might 
 remain unmolested the rest of her life. 
 
 During the last half hour, while the little burro strug- 
 gled with his load, Sefton's impressions took hold of him. 
 On the various levels stretching up to the barren heights 
 crowned by a ruined castle were clustered white walls and 
 jumbled tiled roofs, the spire of its church lifted serenely 
 in their midst. Occasionally a weather-stained house de- 
 tached itself from its more cleanly neighbours, where the 
 walls looked like musty rinds of cheese. Without the town 
 trees clung everywhere to the mountain-side and grape- 
 vines threw out tendrils at support wherever a trellis was 
 lacking. 
 
 On either side of the gateway were mammoth fig trees 
 casting grateful pools of shade. Here they were stopped 
 by the octoi to make certain they were not attemptng to 
 carry dutiable provisions within. This proved a mere form, 
 however, and Sefton's word was sufficient proof that he 
 was admissable without having his bag opened. 
 
 The niiio, who ran out of the fonda where they were 
 directed, made fast two mules harnessed to a carreta that 
 plunged and snorted at the burro. They showed vicious 
 teeth and tossed their heads under straw hats pierced by 
 their long, fuzzy ears. After the carter had seen to it that 
 they were unable to do his little animal any injury, he fol- 
 lowed the child into the fonda, acting as interpreter for 
 Sefton, arranged for his pensionnaire, received his money 
 and was gone. 
 
 After being refreshed, Sefton threw himself upon the 
 alcove bed in his half-darkened room and lay there think- 
 ing. Through the partially shuttered windows that opened 
 onto a diminutive balcony a breeze was stirring. The cool
 
 302 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 air proved the sun was on the decline. He lay waiting for 
 the time when he could go safely in search of Helena. In 
 a few hours he would be talking to her, and all the mys- 
 teries and vicissitudes of four years would be laid bare. 
 The excitement of the moment was not to be curbed by its 
 unreality. 
 
 That evening he inquired where the Sefiora Guzman 
 lived, and at his question was treated with added respect 
 as one belonging to the gente de rason. He set out in 
 search of the house and in a few minutes found what he 
 judged to be it, in the angle of two irregular streets form- 
 ing a gore. The house, which appeared to be very old, 
 was set back from the street and protected by a wall with 
 an arched wicket-gate. Even in the failing light he could 
 see its surface was not lime-washed like the others, but a 
 pale mauve to harmonise with the polychrome tiles and to 
 form a contrast for its flowers. He sniffed the orange- 
 blossoms which assailed him and plucked a bansia rose 
 from the unruly tangle that thrust branches cascading with 
 bloom over the wall. 
 
 He remained leaning on the wicket-gate, watching the 
 lighted windows discreetly curtained. For a moment he 
 felt a prompting to enter at once and demand to see her, 
 but this feeling was choked down. He must take his time 
 and use discretion now that he had reached his journey's 
 end. In the darkness Sefton heard someone at work in 
 the garden with a watering-pot and, afraid of attracting 
 attention, moved on with a contraction at his heart. Was 
 it possible that only a garden wall separated him from the 
 mythical Helena Cass? Could it be that after months de- 
 voted to search, she had been there all that time,, uncon- 
 scious of his tumult of his actual existence. 
 
 On his way back to the fonda he asked himself if that 
 person in shadow could have been she? Or had the nino 
 misdirected him? The desire to see her at once now 
 claimed him to the exclusion of all other thoughts. He 
 had intended not to present himself at her door until noon,
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 303 
 
 but at eleven o'clock next morning, after a sleepless night, 
 the suspense had to be ended. 
 
 He returned to the wicket of the night before and rang 
 the bell. A broad-busted, comely serving-woman, her sleek 
 dark hair in place, answered his ring. As she came down 
 the garden walk he noticed the worn flagging had been 
 planted with grass, so that a border of fresh green out- 
 lined each stone, giving the effect of a vast quilt spread for 
 one to walk on. 
 
 "Whom do you wish to see?" the young woman asked, 
 surprised to find a stranger, but nevertheless matter-of- 
 fact. 
 
 "The Sefiora Guzman." 
 
 The woman was about to make the reply that she would 
 see if the senora was at home, when he interrupted her. 
 
 "There she is now," he said. "I will speak to her." 
 
 And, pushing by the servant, he went up the walk to the 
 house, where he had caught a glimpse of a lady standing 
 under the portico at the door half hidden in vines. He 
 had approached without her hearing him, when suddenly 
 she turned and they confronted each other. 
 
 It was Helena Cass. He told himelf he would have 
 known her anywhere. The amazing vitality of her eyes, her 
 entire personality changed, and yet essentially the same. 
 Out-of-door life, regular duties, the invigorating air, had 
 hardened her skin like the firing of some splendid cera- 
 mic. A slight colour, like a rare glaze, overlay her fea- 
 tures. And the continued schooling of disappointment, 
 obedience and sorrow had given a spiritual cast which her 
 wilful, imperious face had always lacked. 
 
 "You are the Senora Guzman?" he asked, hat in hand. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "May I speak to you a moment alone?" he inquired as 
 the serving-woman approached them. 
 
 She gave a gesture that was immediately obeyed and the 
 woman went within the house. Neither her attention nor 
 his had relaxed while they continued to hold each other 
 by the challenge of their eyes.
 
 XXXV 
 
 SHE was the first to speak. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked. 
 
 "To marry you." 
 
 She moved impatiently. The upheaval of her shoul- 
 ders suggested part irritation, part insult. He was stupid 
 to have spoken so bluntly, he thought, and then was not re- 
 gretful. It was best that she know he was serious from 
 the start. 
 
 "You must be mad. I won't do you the injustice of 
 supposing you are attempting to be offensive." 
 
 Sefton bowed. 
 
 "Thank you," he said. 
 
 For a moment they relapsed into silence, yet neither 
 moved. His own Castilian had been acquired by study, but 
 there was no doubting the natural product of her speech, 
 fluid, idiomatic, its beauty in no way marred. Nothing 
 was more natural than that she should be mistaken for a 
 Madrilena. He paused. Her face had not altered its 
 veiled inscrutability. It could not have kept its own coun- 
 sel better had she rehearsed her defense. His heart sank. 
 Was she going to continue this farce of pretending to be 
 someone else ? He felt that before him was a maize through 
 which he could not penetrate. 
 
 He noticed beneath a rose trellis two garden chairs, and 
 now led the way thither. She seated herself with that ap- 
 parent unconsciousness of her raiment of one who has been 
 a nun. The artist in Sefton noticed the splendid upright- 
 ness of her body, disposed with the plastic strength yet 
 relaxation of masterly posing. He realised that such ef- 
 fects were achieved without thought, yet they impressed 
 him as the result of adroit attitudinizing. 
 
 "Do you know who I am?" he asked. 
 
 304
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 305 
 
 "Certainly. You are Jay Sefton, the novelist." 
 
 He felt absurdly boyish and pleased. He wanted to 
 throw his hat in the air, but attempted to retain his gravity. 
 
 "Do you remember where we met?" 
 
 "Wasn't it at Mrs. Spencer-Mills, in East Sixty-sixth 
 Street ? She was giving a dance that night. Am I right ?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "And didn't we dance together?" 
 
 "But it must be over five years ago. How do you re- 
 member me? Haven't I changed?" 
 
 "I knew you directly. And Americans never change. 
 They merely grow older. For a person to really change 
 presupposes altering one's point of view, and Americans 
 never do that. They redecorate their drawing-rooms and 
 they revise their visiting-lists, but they never by any 
 chance change their point of view. It's the only thing they 
 inherit and pass on." 
 
 She spoke with a concentrated bitterness in which every 
 word was like some poisonous essence. At that moment 
 a small boy ran on sturdy legs around the angle of the 
 house, observed the stranger for the first time, and then 
 disappeared from shyness. 
 
 "What is it, Juan?" she called. 
 
 But the child did not answer. Sefton was conscious 
 that a moment of tension had arrived, and since she did 
 not speak, he continued : 
 
 "You don't ask how I found you?" 
 
 "I rather make a point of never asking questions. I 
 think people always tell you what they really want you to 
 know." 
 
 When he finished his recital of the months he spent in 
 tracing her, of his various encounters and of the perpetual 
 impasse into which he was being thrust, her expression 
 changed slightly. Her only comment was: 
 
 "You have put yourself to an immense amount of trou- 
 ble. All that time could have been utilized to better result 
 if you'd written another book." 
 
 "I felt I could never write again until I found you."
 
 306 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Your courtesy even outdoes the Spaniard." 
 
 "But I am sincere." 
 
 "Don't be tiresome." 
 
 Her voice was without reproof and yet without spon- 
 taneity. He studied her seeming apathy. Indifference, he 
 admitted shamefacedly, was one of the charms which al- 
 ways roused him. He noticed the listless patrician foot in 
 a distinctly worldly slipper, which protruded from under 
 her well-made dress. Such simple authoritative clothes 
 were not run up by any mountain dressmaker. There was 
 no doubt that she was in communication with Paris or 
 Madrid. He supposed that upon occasions she wished to 
 array herself for her own satisfaction, to realise she was 
 still young and that during the passing years she had been 
 an economist with her looks. 
 
 While they remained there the serving-woman prepared 
 a lunch table and now announced its readiness out-of- 
 doors. Sefton rose, but at his expression of frank disap- 
 pointment she relented. 
 
 "Will you join us?" she asked. "My only stipulations 
 are that you don't forget my Spanish name. And, of 
 course, you won't say any more of those silly things." 
 
 She went away and returned presently with Juan at her 
 side. Her lips were parted a moment before she spoke. 
 She was watching him levelly without change of expres- 
 sion. Then she said quite simply: 
 
 "This is my little boy, Mr. Sefton." 
 
 "How are you, young man?" he asked in Spanish. 
 
 The child bowed ceremoniously over his hand. 
 
 "I am very well, thank you, senor," he said. "You are 
 kind to ask. May I hope that your own health is good?" 
 
 "Estoy bien, gracias," he replied. 
 
 The stone paving where they sat was so irregular that 
 a wedge of paper was placed under one leg to keep the 
 lunch-table steady. A great rose tree that climbed one 
 side of the house formed the only protection between them 
 and the sky. 
 
 "In summer," Miss Cass remarked, seeing that his eyes
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 307 
 
 were turned upward, "the stars seemed tangled in the per- 
 fume of roses." 
 
 "Does your boy know any English?" he asked, as the 
 child remained absolutely silent. 
 
 "Only the Lord's Prayer," was her somewhat astonish- 
 ing answer. "As a Spanish woman my knowing English 
 would be rather unusual, and Juan, you see, who talks 
 freely with the villagers, cannot tell what he does not 
 know. For the most part my neighbours are industrious, 
 incurious, kind-hearted and very able people. But gossip 
 is always a trait of the human species, and I try to give it 
 no soil in which to flourish. Later, when Juan is older 
 and can be reasoned with, I shall teach him English." 
 
 "You speak as though you were planning to remain here 
 for years?" 
 
 "I think my life has given you opportunities for the ob- 
 servation that it is rather useless to plan. I shall be quite 
 happy, however, if allowed to remain here unmolested." 
 
 "But it's unthinkable. A woman of your brain. . . . 
 Aren't you ever homesick for America?" 
 
 "Let's not talk about that." 
 
 Serephina had entered bearing a plate of ham cooked 
 in sherry. Their lunch consisted of fried tortillas, orujo 
 paste, a dish described as "widowed" rice, a bottle of val de 
 Penas, with juniper preserve and fig marmalade. While 
 they ate, a full blown rose overhead in a current of air 
 lodged a volley of red petals upon them. Two of the petals 
 remained balanced in the great architectural mass of Miss 
 Cass's dark hair. 
 
 Luncheon over, Juan ran away to play in the back gar- 
 den, while she took her guest to show him the prospect 
 from the garden wall. Carefully tended borders of freesias 
 in bloom held back an encroachment of phloxes, love-lies 
 ableeding and stars of cyclamen. He noticed the orange 
 tree, whose fragrance he had been aware of the night be- 
 fore, with its branches of ripening fruit and wax-like bloom. 
 Whither she led him acacias overhung the wall, each 
 branch laden with a decoration of balls of golden chenille
 
 3 o8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 that covered the paved street beneath with a yellow shadow 
 of particles of bloom and fallen pollen. The scent in the 
 heat of early afternoon was passionate, heady, like enter- 
 ing the distillery of some famous parfumerie. 
 
 Beneath them were lower levels of the town and from 
 where they stood they saw in the dwindling perspective tile 
 roofs and clustered chimney pots. A swale of olives bound 
 them in and still further was the wild growth of the vega. 
 Straggling hamlets were built along burning white roads 
 that seared the eyes like powdered lime in the sunlight. 
 Purple vapours rose, clothing the distance to great heights 
 beyond which were the summits in perpetual snow. The 
 effect of man assisting nature, but never destroying, im- 
 pressed Sefton. Villages constructed at just such angles to 
 add depth to the precipitous drop below, or stretching on 
 shelving uplands to break monotony without disturbing 
 streams or depredating woods. The colour and variety 
 seemed the planning of some master artist. 
 
 "Did you ever breathe such air?" she asked jealously, as 
 he remained silent. "The Palisades scarcely challenge com- 
 parison with my view. Or do I overestimate our charms ?" 
 
 "These are castles in Spain. But New York is New 
 York. Why this bitterness about home?" 
 
 "I'm not bitter. Only don't you see I am doomed to 
 remain here all the rest of my life?" 
 
 "Are you so miserable?" 
 
 "No," she said defiantly, "I'm not miserable. But how 
 I despise the sanctimonious, hypocritical point of view at 
 home that makes it impossible for me ever to go back. I 
 hadn't even thought of that until seeing you to-day. You 
 are making me remember all the things I had schooled my- 
 self to forget. I thought I'd been successful." 
 
 "But you're not?" 
 
 He saw the quiver in her throat. It came and went as 
 though she were drinking rapidly. He thought at that mo- 
 ment he would give anything in the world to put his lips 
 there to that spot. 
 
 She calmed herself, though her eyes still glistened.
 
 309 
 
 "Tell me about mother and Annis. Have you seen them? 
 How does mother look ? And how is poor Annis . . . ?" 
 
 That moment had brought about the complete displace- 
 ment of all pretenses. She listened painfully to his re- 
 cital of encountering Mrs. Cass at the opera, absorbing each 
 word as he described his visit to East Eightieth Street. 
 He told of her mother's appearance as he had seen her, 
 truthfully, inexorably; her black dress, her inimical manner. 
 When he had finished she asked him abruptly to leave. 
 
 "I must think," she said. "I can't see you any more 
 to-day." 
 
 He went away humbly, yet jubilant. She had refused 
 to see him any more for the present, which he construed 
 to mean that he might come the following day. Yet he 
 counselled reserve and attempted to ignore her for a couple 
 of days, spending the interval in investigating the village 
 and the old cemetery. He found there the dead were 
 shelved in walls like bales of merchandise for periods of 
 years, and deciphered dates that should have made him 
 feel callow and unsubstantial. All that it really achieved 
 was to make him realise just how bitter the punishment 
 was which he had set for himself. 
 
 Returning three days later he found her seated in the 
 garden with some embroidery stretched on a drum which 
 she had laid aside since the light had begun to fail. The 
 air had grown cooler and she had drawn a Manila shawl 
 about her shoulders. She seemed resolutely determined not 
 to recall their moments of intimacy since no reference was 
 made to home or any previous state. He was a tripper 
 and she was a resident of San Anselmo. Serephina placed 
 a lamp in the window and the light fell athwart the flag- 
 ging where they were seated, Miss 'Cass with Juan at her 
 side. Sefton recrossed his legs and leaned back in the 
 deep garden chair, and decided to make the plunge. 
 
 "I want to talk about yourself and, unless you're unwill- 
 ing, your outlook on the future. . . ." 
 
 She gave a slight, embittered laugh. 
 
 "My future is a very uncertain matter. I am likely not
 
 3 io SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 to have any at all, or else an altogether too exuberant one. 
 I am destined to live in rat-holes all the rest of my life." 
 
 "How can you stand it?" 
 
 She sat with averted eyes for several minutes watching 
 the brooding shadows of her garden. She remained irre- 
 sponsive while she appeared to struggle with a strong dis- 
 inclination to speak. Then with a sudden uprush of feel- 
 ing she stiffened to the necessity of some explanation. 
 
 "Of course I know I can trust you," she said. "When 
 you leave you won't mention having seen me." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 "I can stand it because I must. I couldn't have done it 
 once. Now I am able to face whatever confronts me. 
 I've lived so much alone I think I've given more time to 
 metaphysics than most people. Many of the hours at the 
 convent available for prayer I spent in thought. They 
 weren't wasted, for I've devised for my own needs a sort 
 of quasi-religious philosophy. There was a time when I 
 was not a very highly sensitized instrument. But I've lost 
 whatever vanity I had and all thought of my own impor- 
 tance. As an ego I have just enough impulse to keep on 
 living." 
 
 She put her arm protectingly around the little boy seated 
 at her side. The child had been quite unnaturally quiet. 
 He hadn't spoken or squirmed. Sefton had paid little at- 
 tion to Juan, feeling the less he was reminded of the boy's 
 existence the less his fastidiousness would be offended. 
 He wanted to forget what had taken place, not to have it 
 recalled by the child's well-knit frame, the developed shoul- 
 ders and chest of his splendid little body. He was dark, 
 with thick, rebellious hair, alert eyes and a firm mouth 
 and jaw. And yet, in spite of the rather absurd self- 
 reliance in one so young, there was something wistful 
 about the little fellow. He responded to his mother's touch 
 with a double willingness, because she was both father and 
 mother to him, his great playfellow and companion, his 
 chief contact with life. 
 
 "My experience has taught me this," she resumed, "what
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 311 
 
 is wrong for one is not necessarily wrong for another. 
 There is no hard and fast law that can be applied to all. 
 I know this would seem to be a sinner's code of ethics, and 
 of course it is. But this I know. . . ." 
 
 And as she spoke her eyes were vitalized by the express- 
 ing in words of thoughts that had often come to her but 
 remained dormant because of no listener. "The important 
 thing in life is not that one sins, but the effect that one's 
 sin has upon one. Sin isn't sin unless the results are sin- 
 ful. What I have done and decried has made of me a ... 
 woman. I wasn't even a human being before." 
 
 Sefton felt himself curiously stirred by her words. Her 
 life seemed to have woven itself like some strangely 
 wrought pattern into a great theme in music. Out of her 
 wrong-doing she had made for herself a working code. 
 Sin had brought her face to face with this stimulus, this 
 reconstruction of evil into good. The important thing in 
 life is not that one sins, but the effect that one's sin has 
 upon one. It was a world message. Her entire existence 
 seemed to him a translation of this tenet. 
 
 "I was absurdly ignorant considering my age and experi- 
 ence. Emotionally, I was underfed. I had felt nothing. 
 I was spoiled, indulged, immature. I disregarded my 
 mother, my family, my friends, and I contrived to shirk 
 every responsibility. To-day there is no one to do any- 
 thing for me, and I am responsible, not only for myself, 
 but another. Every word I speak, every step I take endan- 
 gers the future liberty of someone else. You see in this 
 little man beside me my one worthy feature. . . . He's 
 kept me from under the wheels of the train. . . . He's 
 kept me from throwing myself into the sea. . . . It's my 
 wrong-doing that has given me all the courage I possess, 
 and all the charity . . . and I believe all the poetry, too. 
 And so, if you ask me if I am ashamed of my past, I can 
 only tell you that I am very proud of it. For had it not 
 been for that I think I might have been a deliberately ^ evil 
 woman, as I was then in the making . . . and as it is, I 
 believe I am a reasonably good one. . . ."
 
 312 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 "Of course you're good," he said heatedly. "Your sin 
 .since you persist in the old vocabulary ... is that you 
 loved an unworthy man too much Surely I am enough of 
 an American to know that the woman who loves too much 
 is more admirable than the woman who does not love 
 enough. Too many men have been the victims of the latter 
 kind of women. And even her greatest admirers will admit 
 that loving is not our countrywoman's strongest point." 
 
 He watched her, silent, gestureless, the repose and per- 
 fect poise of her bearing holding him. Then he went on : 
 
 "Small feeling, I suppose, enters all the virtues. And a 
 woman who retains her chastity may be equally compounded 
 of avarice and lack of imagination. At least the person 
 who is always considering the costs gradually loses the cur- 
 rency of payment. Your 'sin/ as you call it, isn't apparent to 
 me, because I'm in love with you and always shall be." 
 
 Her head was thrust back against the wall. She was 
 watching the stars through the rose trellis. 
 
 "You intend to be sincere," she said judicially as though 
 attempting to weigh each word, "but you're not. You 
 think your interest in me is permanent. It isn't. You're 
 a novelist, subtle, imaginative, looking for a new type. To 
 you I'm a subject, a wayward, rather impressionistic study. 
 With me for a lay figure I don't doubt you could develop 
 something very interesting ... it wouldn't be me, but it 
 would be eminently readable. I think you will admit that 
 is all that you came for, to refresh your impression of me 
 so that you can continue work." 
 
 He felt himself flush in the darkness. The thought of 
 making use of her misfortune had been discarded months 
 since, and yet there had been a time when it was the pro- 
 pelling motive that had goaded him into search. He hesi- 
 tated a moment, looking down at his well-made boots. 
 
 "I am asking you to be my wife," he said quietly. 
 
 "But I don't love you." 
 
 "Of course I know that, but as my wife you will no 
 longer be penalized for past heresies. You can return to 
 America . . free. I will look after the little man. I'm
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 313 
 
 not poor. I have a position of a kind, and I'll exact noth- 
 ing from you that you don't give willingly. More than 
 that, I feel tremendous potentialities within me. I feel 
 I'm going to do good work, great work. I don't say this 
 crassly, but as the wife of a famous novelist, should I be- 
 come one, your place will be secure. I am telling you this, 
 because there is no one else to say it for me. It isn't cow- 
 ardice that's keeping you here, but the pride of your family. 
 Well this would put an end to all the furtiveness I hate. . . 
 What do you say?" 
 
 "My friend ... I will never make use of you or any 
 other man for a selfish purpose. If I ever marry it will be 
 for the simple pleasure of being my husband's wife. . . . 
 No other question will enter into the relation." 
 
 She sat with her shawl drawn about Juan. Looking 
 down upon the tired child she noticed he had fallen asleep. 
 She rose, lifting him in her arms without waking him. 
 
 "I must go in," she said. "Juan is very tired." 
 
 "Helena ... I shall never leave San Anselmo until you 
 marry me." 
 
 He stood close beside her, and at his words she became 
 instantly remote, rigid, impossible to appeal to. He 
 watched the active pupils of her eyes, clear, unwavering, 
 that, as they glittered in her warmly tinted face, seemed 
 compounded of both colour and light. 
 
 "Mr. Sefton," she said mockingly, "I think your discre- 
 tion as a novelist won't permit you^to carry any situation 
 too far. Good night." 
 
 Days followed this encounter before he returned to 
 her. Several times he passed Serephina in the street so 
 that he knew her mistress was still apprised of his where- 
 abouts. Since it was patent to her that he was remaining 
 on her account, it was childish in him to forego the pleasure 
 of seeing her. Before the week was up he returned at her 
 dinner hour. Prandial preparations were going forward in 
 which an appetite perpetually sharpened became acute as he 
 sniffed the delights of Serephina's kitchen. He was asked 
 to remain and accepted with scant urging. A week of un-
 
 314 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 usual warmth had brought out all the roses of the trellis and 
 the flagging beneath was spattered with their blood- red petals. 
 
 They were in the midst of their meal when they heard 
 suddenly the sound of a nearby guitar. An old man, a 
 wandering guitarrero, was standing at the wicket-gate. His 
 eyes danced in his withered face, as the rhythm, which is 
 the soul of the Spaniard, maintained its lilt in emphasised 
 time. For a moment they were amazed that so much music 
 could be urged from his battered instrument. Then Miss 
 Cass called Serephina and gave instructions that the gui- 
 tarrero should be fed. 
 
 "One rarely sees one of these players in this part of 
 Spain. The man has probably come on foot from the south." 
 
 He was urged to enter the garden and he removed his 
 tattered hat with a graceful gesture and drew up his thin 
 bent body in an attitude of respectful attention. He had 
 plucked a red rose, which he placed behind his ear. 
 
 "Beautiful lady," he said, "I play only for my own en- 
 joyment and to give pleasure. Since I see you and the 
 caballero are occupied I will not discommode you further." 
 
 The old man made as if to leave, when Miss Cass spoke : 
 
 "As a stranger in the village will you not do me the 
 honour to accept my hospitality? And after you have 
 dined we should like you to play if it pleases you." 
 
 The old man smiled. The form of her courtesy was 
 not to be withstood. 
 
 "Since it is your wish," he replied, "I cannot refuse." 
 
 Serephina led him to the kitchen and he followed, drag- 
 ging his feet, the hemp soles of his sandals silent on the 
 flagging. Later when Serephina returned to serve wine 
 and a plate of honey cakes she rolled her eyes to heaven 
 and gave a violent pantomime of the stranger's appetite. 
 
 Dinner over, Sefton lit his cigarette in the dusk and they 
 remained silent scenting the acacia and watching the after- 
 glow. They were each roused from their individual medi- 
 tations presently when, the old man's hunger having been 
 appeased, the sound of the guitar was renewed. Serephina 
 had lighted the lamps in the sitting-room and they entered, 
 Sefton for the first time.
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 315 
 
 He noticed the bookcase well stocked with the yellow 
 backs of French and Spanish literature, the few pictures 
 on the wall, the vases of glowing glaze with their apportion- 
 ment of garden flowers. Helena seated herself on a wide 
 sofa spread with a Manila shawl of vivid colours, and he 
 threw himself into an arm-chair by the fireplace. 
 
 The guitarrero was led within ; unabashed he selected the 
 seat nearest the door, and, after bowing respectfully to each, 
 began to play. Having dispatched the meal of a gastro- 
 nome, the old man plucked the strings with increased spirit, 
 while the oscillations of his head kept time unconsciously. 
 He played an old Moorish plaint, haunting, occasionally stri- 
 dent, with a monotonous wailing refrain. This wate followed 
 by a vigorous strumming, African in its intensity, suggest- 
 ing the tom-toms of Algeria, all the movement and pan- 
 tomime of the Arabs at some native celebration. 
 
 Sefton let his cigarette go out. 
 
 "If New York could hear such music," he ejaculated, 
 leaving the unfinished sentence to express the violence of 
 its acclaim. 
 
 She smiled cynically. 
 
 "It can't be heard anywhere but in Spain," she said. 
 "This music is centuries old. It is not written even in 
 manuscript ; it cannot be bought. It has been handed down, 
 an inheritance, among musicians, travelling players and the 
 like. It is dying out even now. Only the ear of a com- 
 poser can record it. These are just fragments, priceless 
 records of a civilisation lost. . . ." 
 
 He did not interrupt again, as the guitarrero played a 
 Sevillana Miss Cass had evidently heard before. She kept 
 time, beating the floor with the heel of her slipper, while 
 the old man's eyes sparkled and he increased its madness. 
 As he broke into a different air, she was suddenly on her 
 feet. She tore the Manila shawl from the sofa, hurled it 
 about her in folds a la Maja, detached a carnation from a 
 vase and fastened it in her hair. Then she opened the 
 drawer of a table and removed a pair of castanets and ad- 
 justed them to her fingers. For a moment she stood wait-
 
 3 i6 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 ing while the thrill of the music, like the pumping of a 
 heart, continued unbroken. Then she sped across the tiled 
 floor of her room, her body half upright, but stooping so 
 that her feet were concealed and the hem of her dress 
 touched the floor. Wrapped in her shawl of angry chro- 
 matic colours, its Chinese yellow embroidered with mam- 
 moth roses with their green leaves, she was like some tropi- 
 cal flower, a red tanagra that had flown through the room. 
 Until that moment Sefton had doubted the wiseness of 
 her experiment. He possessed the cautiousness of one 
 afraid of failure and he realised that the dances of Spain 
 should not be attempted by the well-meaning amateur. It 
 required years if not generations of proficiency to obtain 
 the ease and casual results of the experienced native. He 
 realised now that during her long residence she had learnt 
 them carefully, accurately, with the musical sense of one 
 who loved them and the mimicry of one born an actress. 
 She seemed motionless in her second pose, her head up, 
 her eyes half-veiled by drooping lids, her hands behind her 
 back snapping out the strange involuted rhythm that never 
 escaped her. The Spaniard, he thought, was never so in- 
 stinct with life, so suggestive of violence, as when seem- 
 ingly static, the dancer showing throughout her person the 
 tattoo of time, in eyes, in castanets, in the muscles of the 
 back and torso, and the composed and restless feet. Her 
 movements as she glided round the room were panther- 
 like; the sharp throwing-up of the head never endangered 
 the flower, nor did the folds of her shawl become dis- 
 arranged. 
 
 There were cries from the guitarrero. 
 
 "Muy bien . . . ole, . . . ole, . . ." 
 
 The old man would not suffer his enjoyment to end, he 
 had struck into another dance, a farruca, and in a moment 
 she had replied to the challenge, her arms in place. This 
 was dancing of a more vigorous if not a more difficult 
 order. Between stamping her heels on the floor, which 
 seemed to echo the staccato of her castanets, were rapid 
 turns of these arabesques in which her skirt under the
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 317 
 
 drapery of her shawl spread out like a drooping flower. 
 In spite of dizzy revolving only her feet and ankles were 
 uncovered while she executed the amazing movements, in 
 which each vertebrae of her neck seemed softened until her 
 body was as flexible as the stem of a flame-coloured tulip. 
 Throughout the performance the mask of her face re- 
 mained immobile, the entire dance entrechat and all 
 achieved as by some important ritualist at a solemn fiesta. 
 
 Sefton had watched her with increasing excitement 
 through these convolutions as he saw the heavy coil of her 
 hair loosening. It needed only one more rapid turn with 
 her head thrown back and as she performed that figure 
 there was a shower of pins on the floor and the great 
 length of dark hair shook itself free and fell to her knees. 
 He had seen such wealth of hair before in Spain, but never 
 on one of his own countrywomen. Serephina entered, col- 
 lected the pins, and Miss Cass without loss of countenance 
 swiftly wound her hair up and secured it before a hand- 
 mirror had been brought. Then she cast the Manila shawl 
 aside and went out into the garden. Sefton followed. 
 
 "I don't know what possessed me to be so foolish this 
 evening," she said as she stood under the acacias, leaning 
 against the wall. "I must apologise." 
 
 The scent of the garden in the night air was strong 
 though cool. Sefton stood close beside her, looking into 
 the shadowed oval of her face. "I know what possessed 
 you," he said thickly. "It was the devil. You were in a 
 devilish mood. That's what you wanted to arouse and 
 you've done it." 
 
 He took her face in his hands and holding it to him 
 kissed her, raining upon her lips the determined kisses of a 
 man who had made up his mind. She struggled to be free, 
 but her arms were pinioned whilst he continued to slake 
 his thirst of her. At length managing to free one arm sht 
 fought her way out of his embrace. Then turning she 
 struck him full on the mouth with the palm of her hand. 
 With sobbing breath she ran into the house and closed the 
 door. A moment later he heard the lock pushed down.
 
 3 i8 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 All this time the music had continued its maddening gaiety 
 as though turning into rhythm his own excited heart beats. 
 Now it ceased abruptly as though in answer to an order. 
 
 He remained alone in the garden for several minutes and 
 then disconsolately let himself into the street. The disk of 
 the moon had begun to soar into the sky above the rim of 
 the mountains. It painted the village with an artificial 
 phosphorescent glamour. Sefton walked, not noticing 
 where he went, only wishing to have time to think. But 
 his thoughts far outstripped his steps. Much later he 
 returned to the fonda, climbed the stairs to his room, un- 
 dressed and went to bed. 
 
 But sleep did not overtake him. His bed was placed in 
 a curtained alcove, and in the stuffiness of its enclosure his 
 restlessness became unendurable. He rose, threw on a 
 dressing-gown, and thrusting his bare feet into slippers 
 walked to the open window. Cradling a cigarette in his 
 hands he struck a match and obtained a light. . . . The air 
 that poured into his room was cold with an edge to it, 
 invigorating, sleep-provoking, and yet each moment his 
 thoughts became more dominant. The moon now flooded 
 the expanse below him with a brilliance that was tropic. 
 The sinuosities of the narrow paved streets seemed to run 
 molten silver and the lime-washed walls not in shadow were 
 a harsh white. The walled-in declivities of the mountain- 
 side beyond were planted in almond orchards in bloom and 
 the branches of white blossom were ghostly in the moon- 
 light. The grass beneath was spread with fallen petals like 
 a spectral snow-storm. 
 
 As the cold Spanish night pierced his dressing-gown, 
 Sefton did not move. The silver and whiteness of the 
 dropping perspective as he watched seemed to intensify its 
 impression of loveliness, to deepen its hold upon his im- 
 agination. In a moment he heard the staff of the sereno 
 striking the pavements as he made his way through the 
 streets, lantern in hand, calling out the hour and continuing 
 an astronomical dissertation while the town slept. And 
 mildly at a distance, forming a faint legato, came the sup-
 
 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 319 
 
 pressed voice of the stream racing under the old Arab 
 bridge. The romance of San Anselmo. . . . The simple 
 pastoral beauty of its uplands. . . . The village, rectilinear, 
 overhanging, with its glowing shadows. . . . 
 
 Chilled, but unwilling to leave the window, he realised 
 there would never be a moon that would not suggest failure 
 to him. He would never inhale the scent of acacia or 
 orange blossoms without thinking of this bitterest hour of 
 his life. He acknowledged his defeat and its humiliation. 
 He hadn't expected Helena to remember him. But he had 
 encouraged that unfailing support that if alive, alone and 
 in hiding, she would accept his protection. It was only one 
 more proof of her independence, if proof were needed, that 
 she remained a rebel to the last. She did not love him and 
 she disdained to put him to any use. She despised him 
 now. More than that, she would never trust him again 
 . . . perhaps she would not even see him. At present he 
 was catalogued as one with Buel. . . . Yet even in his 
 bitterness he admired her act. 
 
 He returned to bed with his mind made up. He would 
 leave San Anselmo that day. He would be driven in the 
 afternoon to Lila, sleep there that night and the next morn- 
 ing take the train returning to France. He would spend a 
 week in Paris, and after that he recoiled from the void 
 which stretched before him. He realised in that moment 
 just what he had lost nothing mattered now. 
 
 His plans next day were not effected as summarily as he 
 had expected. It required several hours to find a tarcmta 
 willing to take him to Lila that day. By five o'clock, how- 
 ever, his kit was packed and placed behind them and he 
 was sharing the seat beside the driver. The little burro was 
 directed toward the gate of the village, where he knew he 
 could not go without saying good-bye to Helena. He was 
 leaving forever, and it was conceivable that he might per- 
 form some last service for her. Reaching her house he 
 stopped the vehicle at the corner and strode to the wicket- 
 gate. He rang the garden bell vigourously and waited. He 
 was wearing a cap and his overcoat was carried over his
 
 320 SHE WHO WAS HELENA CASS 
 
 arm. Perhaps if she realised he was going away not to 
 return she might consent to see him. In any case he knew 
 he would not leave until she did. If necessary he would 
 force his entrance. At length Serephina appeared. 
 
 "Will you tell Dona Rosita that the foreign gentleman is 
 leaving Spain to-night and ask if she will see him?" 
 
 Serephina went within and he remained in the sweet- 
 smelling garden. He looked at his watch several times. 
 He lit a cigarette to hide his anxiety. Minutes passed 
 without incident. Then she came out from the house and 
 stood under the trellis. She was wearing a white dress, 
 one he had never seen before. He wondered if she had 
 not kept him waiting in order to change. She glanced at 
 his overcoat. 
 
 "Serephina says you're going away." 
 
 "Yes, this is good-bye. I came to ask if you would care 
 to send any message to your mother or sister ... or if 
 I could take them anything you would not care to risk by 
 post. . . . You can trust me, really." 
 
 For a moment she did not answer. His eyes were in 
 hers and yet he saw that her breathing was hurried, in gusts. 
 
 "Isn't this a sudden decision ?" 
 
 "Not very. I made up my mind last night. I knew 
 there was no need of my remaining. . . . Even a poor 
 player knows when he's lost. But I shall have to hurry. 
 My carretero is waiting at the corner." 
 
 "Don't go," she pleaded. "Please don't go, Jay." 
 
 She placed her hand upon his coat sleeve as though to 
 forcibly detain him. 
 
 That was enough. He threw down his coat on the grass. 
 His arms were around her and she no longer fought, though 
 he could feel the tumult of her heart against his side. She 
 was shivering. ... It seemed to him only a minute in 
 which the dusk fell between them like a wounded bird. He 
 saw the garden had grown dark, and they were two shadows 
 alone, before that exquisite panorama of unreality, and 
 above them on the hilltop were the ruins of a castle in 
 Spain. 
 
 THE END
 
 A 000120004