Possessed Part 7

The doctor noted her increasing agitation and the flood of color mounting to her cheeks.

"Steady now! Take it easy. Have you any idea what you did at the studio, a.s.suming that you really went there?"

Penelope hesitated, biting her lips. "I know what I saw myself do in the dream. I acted in an impossible way. I--I--here is a little thing--you know I never smoke, but in the dream I did smoke."

"Have you ever smoked?"

"Yes, I did when my husband was living. He taught me. He said I was a better sport when I was smoking a cigarette."

"But you haven't smoked since your husband's death?"

"Not at all. I have not smoked once since he died, not once--until last night."

The man of science eyed her searchingly. "Mrs. Wells, you are not hiding anything from me, are you?"

"No! No! Of course not! Don't frown at me like that--please don't. I am trying my best to tell you the truth. I _know_ these things did not happen, but--"

Here her self-control left her and, with a gesture of despair, Penelope sank forward on a little table beside her chair and sobbed hysterically, her face hidden in her arms.

"There! There!" soothed Dr. Owen. "I was a brute. I have taxed you beyond your strength."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am for your patience and sympathy,"

murmured Penelope through her tears, and, presently, regaining her composure, she continued her confession.

"I want you to know everything--now. In my dream there was a scene of pa.s.sion between Captain Herrick and myself. He held me in his arms and kissed me and I--I responded. We both seemed to be swept on by a reckless madness and at one moment Chris seized me roughly with his hand and--of course you think this is all an illusion, but--look here!" She threw open her loose garment and on her beautiful shoulder pointed to five perfectly plain purple marks that might have been made by the fingers of a man's hand.

"Extraordinary!" muttered the doctor. "Let me look at this closer. Have you got such a thing as a magnifying gla.s.s? Ah, thank you!"

For some moments he silently studied these strange marks on the fair young bosom, then he said very gravely: "Mrs. Wells, I want to think this over before giving an opinion. And I must have a serious talk with Captain Herrick."

CHAPTER V

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE STUDIO

For the purposes of this narrative, which is concerned almost exclusively with the poignant strangeness of a woman's experiences, it is sufficient to say that Captain Christopher Herrick was what is generally known as a fine fellow--handsome, modest, well-to-do, altogether desirable as a lover and a husband. At thirty-five he had made for himself an enviable position as a New York architect, one who was able to strike out boldly in new lines while maintaining a reasonable respect for venerable traditions. He had served gallantly in the war and he was now, for quite understandable reasons, desperately in love with Penelope Wells.

On this particular evening when Christopher had been summoned by his much respected friend, Dr. Owen, to dine and discuss a matter of immediate importance, the young officer had accepted eagerly. For some time he had wanted to talk with the doctor about Penelope's nervous condition. He was drawn to this girl by a force that stirred the depths of his being--he could not live without her; yet his love was clouded by anxiety at her strange behavior.

Christopher's face was troubled. His brain was in a turmoil. The happenings of the last few days bewildered him. Life had seemed so simple, so beautiful, with just their great love for each other to build on; but now.... He was only sure of one thing, that from the moment Penelope Wells had come to him as a ministering angel across the scarred and broken battle field, he had adored her with a love that would endure until the day of his death ... and, he told himself, beyond that!

"Chris, my boy," began Owen in his bluff, cheery way when they had retired to the study for coffee and cigars, "I am in a difficulty, I must ask you some questions that may embarra.s.s you--it's the only way out."

Herrick's clear, honest gaze met the doctor's eyes unflinchingly.

"That's all right, sir. Go ahead. I suppose it's about Mrs. Wells?"

"Yes. I am very much interested in her case, not only on your account, but because she is a wonderful woman. When I write your father I'll tell him he's going to have a daughter-in-law who will make him sit up and take notice. Ha, ha!"

The young man's heavy brows contracted gloomily.

"I wish that were true, sir, but--you know what I told you?"

"About her refusing you? Don't worry over that. Just wait until we get her health built up a little."

"Do you think she will change her mind? Did she say so?" Herrick asked eagerly.

"Pretty nearly that. If she doesn't marry you, she won't marry anyone.

The fact is--Mrs. Wells is suffering from a nervous strain, I'm not sure what it is, but there are abnormal symptoms and--I hate to force your confidence, Chris, but, speaking as Mrs. Wells' medical adviser and a mighty good friend of yours, a sort of representative of your father--you know how close your father and I have always been?"

"Yes, sir, I know. I'll do anything you say."

"You want to help this lovely lady? You want to make her happy?"

"That's what I want more than anything in this world," the officer's grey eyes flashed with the spirit of a lover and a soldier.

"Good. Now the way to do it is--you must help her by helping me. I think I understand the situation up to a week ago, but since then--well, it's a little complicated. Mrs. Wells has paid you two visits in the last few days, hasn't she?"

"Yes. Did she tell you?"

"She told me a little. Try some of that port, Chris, and light another cigar," the older man said genially. "We may as well be comfortable.

There! Now tell me about Mrs. Wells' first visit--after the dance?"

At this invitation the young officer began quite frankly and with a certain sense of humor to describe the circ.u.mstances that led up to the climax, but presently he hesitated, and, observing this, Owen said: "No false delicacy, please. It's extremely important to me as a doctor to know everything that happened. You say Mrs. Wells came in chilled and frightened and--then what?"

"Then I threw a couple of logs on the fire and was just going to get her some brandy against the cold when there came an awful racket overhead, it shook the whole place and Penelope was so startled that--just instinctively I put my arm around her. She clung to me and--I tried to soothe her and before I knew it--I couldn't help it--I kissed her."

The doctor smiled. "If you hadn't kissed her under those circ.u.mstances, my boy, I would never have forgiven you. Perhaps she wouldn't either.

Well?"

"It's going to be pretty tough, sir, to tell you--some of this,"

stammered Herrick, frowning at the carpet. "Penelope got awfully angry and said she was going to leave. I apologized and tried to square myself, but she wouldn't have it. She said I had insulted her and she refused to stay in my place another minute. I asked her to wait until I could get a dry coat and umbrella for her and then I would take her wherever she wanted to go. She agreed to wait and I went into the other room."

Christopher paused and drew his chair closer to the doctor.

"Now here is a most extraordinary thing. When I left Penelope she was standing before the fire, furious with me, but when I came back, not two minutes later, she was lying on the divan with her eyes closed, apparently asleep. As I had been out of the room for so short a time, it seemed incredible that she could have really fallen asleep, yet there she was. I looked at her in astonishment. I wondered if she could have fainted, but I saw that her cheeks were flushed, her lips were red and she was breathing regularly. I didn't know what to make of it."

"Well?" questioned the doctor.

Herrick s.h.i.+fted uneasily on his chair. "I haven't had much experience with women, sir, but I know they are complicated creatures, and I couldn't help thinking that Penelope was playing a little joke on me; so I bent over her and, after I had made up my mind that she wasn't ill and wasn't asleep, I--I kissed her again. That's another queer thing. Her lips were warm, her breathing was as soft and regular as a child's, but she never moved nor spoke nor responded in any way. She just lay there and--"

"You thought she was shamming?" suggested Owen.

"That's it, especially as she had been so angry with me just a few minutes before. I couldn't imagine anything else. So--er--"

"Go on," said the older man.