“Shortly before Paul was stricken down,” Helen proceeded, “he disposed of all his property—it was in securities of various kinds—and we have never been able to find out what he did with the money he received. Thousands and thousands of dollars took wing somehow. It was never brought here, so she could not have stolen it actually, but I am as sure that Asenath knows where that money is as I am that I live.”
“Now, Helen, be sensible, do.”
“Mother Glen was a sensible woman, and she believed as I do. She said the girl was uncanny. Moreover, she declared to me that Asenath had set out to conquer her as she did Paul, and that it was only by constant resistance that she prevented her from gaining her object. There was a psychic contest between them. Mother Glen’s brain was in a condition of siege for months. It could not stand the strain. She was seized with paralysis and died. I blame Asenath for her death.”
I did not say much in reply. My odd experience of a few minutes before puzzled me. Helen’s account of the girl threw a weird light upon what I felt bound, as a reasonable man, to consider merely curious phenomena, subjective in character and due to some unexplained physical cause. I determined to say a few decided words to Robert Glen about the culpability of allowing his delicate wife to contend with such an annoyance as Asenath, who, if not a sorceress, certainly was a fractious and troublesome servant.
“It is strange that Robert does not remove her,” said I.
Helen’s face flushed and was drawn by a momentary spasm. She looked at me in troubled silence, as if she could not decide to speak what she wished to tell me.
“I am afraid for Robert,” she said at length, almost in a whisper; “there is something in that girl’s demeanor to him that it sickens me to think of—and which I dare not try to explain, even to myself. It seems impossible that she can dare to think that he”—she went on hurriedly, after a pause—“you see, he believes in no psychic powers and is not on his guard. He calls her unearthly pranks mere mischief that a few years’ discipline will take out of her. Robert intends her to marry Lucas.”
She spoke the last sentence quite loudly, and, as the girl and her driver were passing by the window, they overheard. Lucas, a squat, stolid-looking mulatto, with a face like that of a satiated animal, chuckled and poked at Asenath with the gad.
The girl stopped. She threw down her burden, flung back her head, and turned upon Helen a wild and vicious stare. Her face, streaming with perspiration, was full of threat. She gasped for breath from emotion or the heaviness of her toil. She raised one hand, wiped her brow with its open palm, and flung the drops of sweat in a shower at Helen.
“May every drop curse you!” she said, between her labored breaths.