The effect on Catherine was no less strong. She had entered the room with her heart beating with joyful antic.i.p.ation, like a lover's when at the door of his mistress's house; but as soon as her eyes fell on Mary engaged at so unexpected a task, she turned pale and involuntarily stepped backward a pace.

She stood looking at the girl without speaking, her eye going alternately from her to the child in the bath.

The sight of the naked baby that lay between them, now squalling loudly at being neglected, suggested strange and fearful thoughts to both their minds, and either knew of what the other was thinking.

It must have been many years since the head of the Secret Society had seen a naked baby, and now to come suddenly upon one, and with her favourite pupil tending it, too, forced her to realize, in a vivid way she had never done before, what her scheme meant. She felt a strange sickness and vertigo when she looked at the innocent being before her.

Mrs. White was not unnaturally very astonished at the curious manner of the meeting of this affectionate aunt and niece; but she came to her senses first, and as no one else seemed inclined to break through the awkward silence, said:

"There is the dear girl; she looks much better, does she not, Mrs.

King?"

This broke the spell. Mary sprang to her feet and rushed into Catherine's arms, kissing her with great warmth.

Catherine returned the embrace in a shy manner that seemed cold; she was ashamed of being effusively affectionate, especially before strangers; but she felt as if her very soul was going out to the girl who hung about her neck.

She said in a quiet voice: "I should have come long ago, you know, Mary, but the doctor would not hear of it."

She still held the girl's hand in her own, unwilling to part with it.

"I know that. But, oh! I have so longed to see you, aunt dear--and I have so much to talk to you about!"

"We will have a long chat together to-morrow morning, Mary, before I go; but you must not tire yourself now. Indeed you do look better--much better," and she stepped back so as better to see her pupil. "What should we have done without you, Mrs. White? Ah! I have reason to be grateful to you for your kindness to my niece."

"But, oh! I am altogether neglecting Tommy!" cried Mary; "poor little chap, sitting there all alone, covered with nasty soap-suds!--no one paying the slightest attention to him! Aren't they naughty, Tommy? No wonder he cries, poor little man!" She was beginning all her tender woman's nonsense with the child again, when her eyes suddenly met those of her mistress, and she became confused and silent again before that sad, puzzled gaze.

Catherine felt she ought to say something complimentary to the mother; it was the usual thing, she supposed; so she spoke in a curious, constrained tone, hesitating between the words as if repeating a half-learned lesson:

"That is your--youngest--I presume--Mrs. White? He is a--a fine--a fine boy."

Mrs. White smiled involuntarily at the stiff manner of the woman; could this be the kind, sympathetic aunt whom Mary had praised so warmly?

"Yes," she replied; "he is the youngest of the three--a great friend of Mary's; isn't he, Mary?"

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Catherine, and lapsed into awkward silence again.

Everything was so strange to her that she could not collect her thoughts at all.

"Leave him to me, darling--I'll dry him," said the mother to Mary; and the little mortal was soon dried, chuckling and crowing again in a warm blanket.

He looked at the stranger and laughed, pointing to her with his chubby fist to attract her attention.

"He has evidently taken to you, Mrs. King," said the proud mother.

"Isn't he a fine boy?" and she handed him to her--the baby stretching out his arms and kicking l.u.s.tily in his eagerness to be taken up by a new friend.

Catherine mechanically took him in her arms and held him in a constrained, stiff way, looking at him as if he were some entirely new animal to her, and as if she did not know what to make of him, or whether he was dangerous or not.

It had doubtlessly been a long time since she had held a baby in her arms, though she discussed them a good deal in the abstract.

The extreme awkwardness of her position, and the uncomfortable look of her face, as she stood with the infant White in the middle of the room, would have made Mary laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole situation, were it not that the hidden meaning of the scene made her heart bleed with pity and sorrow.

It was indeed a relief to Catherine when the baby was put to bed and they went downstairs into the drawing-room.

The invalid, tired out by the day's excitement, was sent to bed shortly after tea, and the two women were left alone. Notwithstanding the incongruity of the society, the evening pa.s.sed pleasantly enough.

Catherine soon became herself again, now that distressing phenomenon, the baby, was no longer present.

Mrs. White, who could soon make anyone feel at home, discovered that her guest was very fond of chess, a game which she herself played a little.

So after a long talk over Mary's illness, the chessmen were brought out and they sat down to a game.

But as they played, the thoughts of both wandered constantly to the same subject, one in which both were deeply interested--the fate of Mary Grimm. Both loved the girl, both were anxious about her future, and either dreaded the influence of the other.

Catherine King instinctively felt that her own influence over her pupil would be lessened by her a.s.sociation with Mrs. White; she dreaded that Mary's new surroundings would unfit her for her work in the Secret Society.

So, too, did Mrs. White fear Catherine. She knew how devoted Mary was to her aunt, how thoroughly she believed in her wisdom and goodness, and she also knew from her brother what objectionable views Catherine held on the subject of religion and morals. She felt how perilous it must be for a young girl to have faith in such a teacher.

Thus it happened that as they played at chess, the two women were playing another more subtle game at the same time. Each was endeavouring to sound the other as to her views and intentions with regard to the girl.

But both were cautious, and would reveal nothing of their plans.

At last, towards the end of the game, Mrs. White asked:

"Do you think it will be well for Mary to return to her hospital work after so serious an illness?"

"Check!" said Mrs. King. "You can only save yourself by sacrificing your bishop--I beg your pardon, Mrs. White, but I have not considered that matter yet. I shall certainly not permit her to return to the hospital for a long while yet."

After a few more moves, Mrs. White spoke again: "I hear that you are a great politician, Mrs. King?"

"I take deep interest in social questions, but I am afraid you would not consider my views quite orthodox, Mrs. White."

Another long pause ensued.

"That white knight of yours is much in the way of my schemes; but I think I shall get him out of the way very soon," said Catherine, who was deeply interested in the game, and was too confident of success to fear the result of thus disclosing her tactics to the enemy.

Mrs. White started; the words seemed ominous, for she was just then thinking what a dangerous foe to Mrs. King her own brother would prove, as Mary's lover, how he would frustrate her plans.

So, from that moment, she began to take a peculiar interest in the game before her. She was possessed by a fancy that whoever would win that game, would win Mary. She remembered the old legend of the Angel and the Demon playing for the man's soul, and she felt a strange awe, when she looked at the dark frowning face of her adversary contemplating the pieces before her.

It was soon evident that the game was in Catherine's hands; a few more moves and the Mate was inevitable.

Mrs. White was filled with quite a superst.i.tious terror and despair, as the end approached. She was ashamed of her folly, but could not help it in the presence of this woman.

Catherine had been observing her face with some amus.e.m.e.nt; she had, with her peculiar faculty of placing her mind in sympathy with that of another, half-read her thoughts. She divined that Mrs. White was identifying the game with another more important one that was yet to be fought out. Her eccentric mind was seized with a curious inspiration.

She suddenly, as if by accident, upset the light chess-table with her elbow, and the pieces rolled rattling to the floor.

The eyes of the two women met.

Catherine smiled and said, "I should have won I think, but this accident makes it a drawn game. _The Fates won't reveal their secret._ But I must not keep you up any longer, Mrs. White; I know it is long after your usual bed-time," and she rose from her seat as she spoke.