The Blind Spot

  XVI

  CHARLOTTE

  Left alone, I began thinking of Charlotte. I loved her; of that I wascertain. I could not compare her with the Nervina. She was like myself,human. I had known her since boyhood. The other was out of the ether; mylove for her was something different; she was of dreams and moonbeams;there was a film about her beauty, illusion; she was of spirit.

  I wrote a note to the detective and left it upon my desk. After that Ipacked a suitcase and hurried to the station. If I was going I would doit at once, I could not trust myself too far. This visit had been likea breath of air; for the moment I was away from the isolation. Theloneliness and the weariness! How I dreaded it! I was only free fromit for a few moments. On the train it came back upon me and in a mannerthat was startling.

  I had purchased my ticket. When the conductor came through he passed me.He gathered tickets all about me; but he did not notice me. At first Ipaid no attention; but when he had gone through the car several times Iheld up my ticket. He did not stop. It was not until I had touched himthat he gave me a bit of attention.

  "Where have you been sitting?" he asked.

  I pointed to the seat. He frowned slightly.

  "There?" he asked. "Did you say you were sitting in that seat? Where didyou get on?"

  "At Townsend."

  "Queer," he answered; he punched the ticket. "Queer. I passed that seatseveral times. It was empty!"

  Empty! It was almost a shock. Could it be that my isolation was becomingphysical as well as mental? What was this gulf that was widening betweenmyself and my fellows?

  It was the beginning of another phase. I have noticed it many times; onthe street, in public places, everywhere. I thread in and out among men.Sometimes they see me, sometimes they don't. It is strange. I feel attimes as though I might be vanishing out of the world!

  It was late when I reached my old home; but the lights were stillburning. My favourite dog, Queen, was on the veranda. As I came up thesteps she growled slightly, but on recognition went into a series ofcircles about the porch. My father opened the door. I stepped inside. Hetouched me on the shoulder, his jaw dropped.

  "Harry!" he exclaimed.

  Was it as bad as that? How much meaning may be placed in a singleintonation! I was weary to the point of exhaustion. The ride upon thetrain had been too much.

  My mother came in. For some moments I was busy protesting my health.But it was useless; it wasn't until I had partaken of a few of the oldnostrums that I could placate her.

  "Work, work, work, my boy," said my father, "nothing but work. Itreally won't do. You're a shadow. You must take a vacation. Go to themountains; forget your practice for a short time."

  I didn't tell them. Why should I? I decided right then it was my ownbattle. It was enough for me without casting the worry upon others. YetI could not see Charlotte without calling on my parents.

  As soon as possible I crossed the street to the Fentons'. Someone hadseen me in town. Charlotte was waiting. She was the same beautiful girlI had known so long; the blue eyes, the blonde, wavy mass of hair, thelaughing mouth and the gladness. But she was not glad now. It wasalmost a repetition of what had happened at home, only here a bit morepersonal. She clung to me almost in terror. I didn't realise I had gonedown so much. I knew my weariness; but I hadn't thought my appearanceso dejected. I remembered Watson. He had been wan, pale, forlorn.After what brief explanation I could give, I proposed a stroll in themoonlight.

  It was a full moon; a wonderful night; we walked down the avenue underthe elm trees. Charlotte was beautiful, and worried; she clung to myarm with the eagerness of possession. I could not but compare herwith Nervina. There was a contrast; Charlotte was fresh, tender,affectionate, the girl of my boyhood. I had known her all my life; therewas no doubt of our love.

  Who was the other? She was something higher, out of mystery, out oflife--almost--out of the moonbeams. I stopped and looked up. The greatfull orb was shining. I didn't know that I spoke.

  "Harry," asked Charlotte, "who is the Nervina?"

  Had I spoken?

  "What do you know about the Nervina?" I asked.

  "She has been to see me. She told me. She said you would be heretonight. I was waiting. She is very beautiful. I never saw anyone likeher. She is wonderful!"

  "What did she say?"

  "She! Oh, Harry. Tell me. I have waited. Something has happened. Tellme. You have told me nothing. You are not like the old Harry."

  "Tell me about the Nervina. What did she say? Charlotte, tell meeverything. Am I so much different from the old Harry?"

  She clutched at my arm fearfully; she looked into my eyes.

  "Oh," she said, "how can you say it? You haven't laughed once. You aremelancholy; you are pale, drawn, haggard. You keep muttering. You arenot the old Harry. Is it this Nervina? At first I thought she loved you;but she does not. She wanted to know all about you, and about our love.She was so interested. What is this danger?"

  I didn't answer.

  "You must tell me. This ring? She said that you must give it to me. Whatis it?" she insisted.

  "Did she ask that? She told you to take the ring? My dear," I asked, "ifit were the ring and it were so sinister would I be a man to give it tomy loved one?"

  "It would not hurt me."

  But I would not. Something warned me. It was a ruse to get it out of mypossession. The whole thing was haunting, weird, ghostly. Always I couldhear Watson. I still had a small quota of courage and will-power. Iclung steadfastly to my purpose.

  It was a sad three hours. Poor Charlotte! I shall never forget it. It isthe hardest task on earth to deny one's loved one.

  She had grown into my heart and into its possession. She clung to metenderly, tearfully. I could not tell her. Her feminine instinct senseddisaster. In spite of her tears I insisted. When I kissed her goodnightshe did not speak. But she looked up at me through her tears. It was thehardest thing of all for me to bear.