“Yes! I was staying with her at the Red House until last night, and
then she was so cruel to me that I left. Her son Bobby is dead, and she
accused me of having killed him. She said that my father was a murderer
and my mother a negress--that they were both so wicked that their own
servants killed them, and that I have inherited all their vices. She
said that it was _I_ who killed Mrs. Pullen’s baby and that I had
vampire blood in me, and should poison everyone I came in contact with. What does she mean? Tell me the truth, for God’s sake, for more depends
upon it than you have any idea of.”

“Madame Gobelli was extremely wrong to speak in such a manner, and I
do not know on what authority she did so. What can she know of your
parents or their antecedents?”

“But you--you--” cried Harriet feverishly, “what do _you_ say?”

Doctor Phillips was silent. He did not know what to say. He was not
a man who could tell a lie glibly and appear as if he were speaking
the truth. Patients always guessed when he had no hope to give them,
however soothing and carefully chosen his words might be. He regarded
the distracted girl before him for some moments in compassionate
silence, and then he answered:

“I have said already that if a daughter cannot hear any good of her
parents, she had better hear nothing at all!”

“Then it is true--my father and mother were people so wicked and so
cruel that their names are only fit for execration. If you could have
said a good word for them, you would! I can read that in your eyes!”

“The purity and charity of your own life can do much to wipe out the
stain upon theirs,” said the doctor. “You have youth and money, and the
opportunity of doing good. You may be as beloved, as they were----”

“Hated,” interposed the girl, “I understand you perfectly! But what
about my possessing the fatal power of injuring those I come in
contact with! What truth is there in that? Answer me, for God’s sake! Have I inherited the vampire’s blood? Who bequeathed to me that fatal
heritage?”

“My dear Miss Brandt, you must not talk of such a thing! You are
alluding only to a superstition!”

“But have I got it, whatever it may be?” persisted Harriet. “Had I
anything to do with the baby’s death, or with that of Bobby Bates? I
loved them both! Was it my love that killed them? Shall I always kill
everybody I love? I _must_ know--I _will_!”

“Miss Brandt, you have now touched upon a subject that is little
thought of or discussed amongst medical men, but that is undoubtedly
true. The natures of persons differ very widely. There are some born
into this world who nourish those with whom they are associated; they
_give out_ their magnetic power, and their families, their husbands or
wives, children and friends, feel the better for it. There are those,
on the other hand, who _draw_ from their neighbours, sometimes making
large demands upon their vitality--sapping their physical strength, and
feeding upon them, as it were, until they are perfectly exhausted and
unable to resist disease. This proclivity has been likened to that of
the vampire bat who is said to suck the breath of its victims. And it
was doubtless to this fable that Madame Gobelli alluded when speaking
to you.”

“But have I got it? Have I got it?” the girl demanded, eagerly. The doctor looked at her lustrous glowing eyes, at her parted feverish
lips; at the working hands clasped together; the general appearance of
excited sensuality, and thought it was his duty to warn her, at least
a little, against the dangers of indulging such a temperament as she
unfortunately possessed. But like all medical men, he temporised. “I should certainly say that your temperament was more of the _drawing_
than the _yielding_ order, Miss Brandt, but that is not your fault,
you know. It is a natural organism. But I think it is my duty to warn
you that you are not likely to make those with whom you intimately
associate, stronger either in mind or body. You will always exert a
weakening and debilitating effect upon them, so that after a while,
having sapped their brains, and lowered the tone of their bodies, you
will find their affection, or friendship for you visibly decrease. You
will have, in fact, _sucked them dry_. So, if I may venture to advise
you I would say, if there is any one person in the world whom you most
desire to benefit and retain the affection of, let that be the very
person from whom you separate, as often as possible. You must never
hope to keep anyone near you for long, without injuring them. Make it
your rule through life never to cleave to any one person altogether, or
you will see that person’s interest in you wax and wane, until it is
destroyed!”

“And what if I--marry?” asked Harriet, in a strained voice. “If you insist upon my answering that question, I should advise you
seriously _not_ to marry! I do not think yours is a temperament fitted
for married life, nor likely to be happy in it! You will not be
offended by my plain speaking, I hope. Remember, you have forced it
from me!”

“And that is the truth, medically and scientifically--that I must not
marry?” she repeated, dully. “I think it would be unadvisable, but everyone must judge for himself
in such matters. But marriage is not, after all, the ultimatum of
earthly bliss, Miss Brandt! Many married couples would tell you it
is just the reverse. And with a fortune at your command, you have
many pleasures and interests quite apart from that very over-rated
institution of matrimony. But don’t think I am presuming to do more
than advise you. There is no real reason--medical or legal--why you
should not choose for yourself in the matter!”

“Only--only--that those I cling to most nearly, will suffer from the
contact,” said Harriet in the same strained tones. “Just so!” responded the doctor, gaily, “and an old man’s advice to you
is, to keep out of it as he has done! And now--if there is anything
more--” he continued, “that I can do for you----”

“Nothing more, thank you,” replied the girl rising, “I understand it
all now!”

“Will you not see your old friend, Mrs. Pullen, before you go?” asked
the doctor. “She and her husband are staying with me!”

“Oh! no, no,” cried Harriet, shrinking from the idea, “I _could_ not
see her, I would rather go back at once!”

And she hurried from the consulting-room as she spoke. Doctor Phillips stood for a while musing, after her departure. Had
he done right, he thought, in telling her, yet how in the face of
persistent questioning, could he have done otherwise? His thoughts were
all fixed upon Ralph Pullen and the scenes that had taken place lately
with him, respecting this girl. He did not dream she had an interest
in Anthony Pennell. He did not know that they had met more than once. He thought she might still be pursuing Ralph; still expecting that he
might break his engagement with Miss Leyton in order to marry herself;
and he believed he had done the wisest thing in trying to crush any
hopes she might have left concerning him.