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"He never took advantage of her at all," said Stella. "She was an attic case too. Doubt she'd ever seen another human being before Cortland went up to meet the poor prisoner for himself. And I don't know what happened. I was barely born then, you know. But don't go getting angry at Cortland. Cortland, of all your boys, adores you. And he'll be angry at me, and round it will go. Forget about it."

"Forget about it! I have a granddaughter locked in an attic fifteen blocks from here? The hell I will forget about it! Her name is Evelyn? She's the daughter of that poor idiot Barbara Ann! This is what you're telling me? And that monster Tobias has her locked away? No wonder Carlotta is beside herself. She's right. It's atrocious, the whole story!"

Stella leapt up from the chair, clapping her hands. "Mother, Mother," she cried. "Oncle Julien's all recovered. He has no more stroke. He is himself again! We're going to Amelia Street."

Of course Mary Beth came rushing in. "Did Carlotta tell you about that girl?" she said. "Don't mix in it."

"Don't mix in it!" I was rabid.

"Oh, Mother, really, you are worse than Queen Elizabeth," cried Stella, "fearing the power of her poor cousin Mary Queen of Scots. That girl cannot harm us! She is no Mary Queen of Scots."

"I didn't say that she was, Stella," said Mary Beth, unruffled and very calm as always. "I have no fear of the child, no matter how powerful she is. I have only pity for her." She was towering over me. I sat on the couch, resolved to move but still curious to know more before I did so.

"Carlotta started it all, visiting up there. The girl hides in the attic."

"Does not. Is locked in!"

"Stella, hush up. Be a witch, not a bitch, for the love of heaven."

"Mother, she's never been out of the house in her whole life, same story as Barbara Ann! Same reason. There are plenty of witches' gifts in that family, Oncle Julien. Barbara Ann was sort of crazy, they say, but this girl has Cortland's blood too, and she sees the future."

"No one really sees the future," Mary Beth declared, "and no one should want to see it. Julien, the girl is peculiar. She is shy. She hears voices. Sees ghosts. It's nothing new. She is more warped and isolated than most, having been brought up by old people."

"Cortland, how dare he not tell me this!" I said.

"He didn't dare," said Mary Beth. "He wouldn't hurt you."

"He doesn't care," said I. "Damn him, to leave a baby daughter with those cousins! And it was Carlotta who went there, to that house, to be under Tobias's roof, Tobias who has always called me a murderer."

"Oncle Julien, you are a murderer," said Stella.

"Hush up once and for all," said Mary Beth.

Stella sulked, which meant at least a temporary victory.

"Carlotta went there to ask the girl what she saw, to ask her to predict, the most dangerous of games. I forbade it, but she went. She'd heard tell of how this girl had more power than anyone ever in our family."

"That's such an easy claim to make," I said with a sigh. "More power than anyone else. There was a time when I made it myself, in a long-ago world of horses and carriages, and slaves and peaceful country. More power."

"Ah, but you see there's a wrinkle here. This girl has many many Mayfair ancestors. When you mixed Cortland into it, the number became fantastic!"

"Ah, I see," I said. "Barbara Ann was the daughter of Walker and Sarah, both Mayfairs. Yes, and Sarah was from Aaron and Melissa Mayfair."

"Yes, and so on it goes back and back. It's hard to find any ancestor for this child who was not a Mayfair."

"Now, that is a thought," said I. And then I wanted my books, I wanted to write this down, to note it and ponder it, and when I remembered with a dull ache that my books were burnt, I felt such bitterness. I grew quiet, and listened to them chatter over me.

"The girl doesn't see the future any more than anyone else," declared Mary Beth. She sat down beside me. "Carlotta went there wishing to be upheld, that we were cursed, we were all doomed. It is her song and dance."

"She sees probabilities as we all do," said Stella with a melodramatic sigh. "She has strong presentiments."

"And what happened?"

"Carlotta went up into the attic, to visit Evelyn. She went more than once. She played to the girl, drew her out, and then the girl, who almost never speaks, or does not for years on end, declared some terrible prediction."

"Which was what?"

"That we should all perish from the earth," said Stella, "afflicted by him who had raised us and upheld us." I lifted my head. I looked at Mary Beth. "Julien, there is nothing in it."

"Is this why you burned my books? Is that why you destroyed all the knowledge I had gathered?"

"Julien, Julien," she said. "You are old and you dream. The girl said what would get her a gift, perhaps, or make Carlotta leave, for all we know. The girl's a mute almost. The girl sits in the window all day and watches the traffic on St. Charles Avenue. The girl sings sometimes, or speaks in rhymes. She cannot lace her own shoes or brush her hair."

"And that wicked Tobias doesn't let her out," said Stella.

"Damn it all, I've heard enough. Have my car brought round to the front."

"You can't go driving," said Mary Beth, "you're too ill. Do you want to die on the front steps of Amelia Street? Have the courtesy to die in your bed with us."

"I'm not ready for dying yet, my darling daughter," I declared, "and you tell the boys to bring the car around now, or I'll walk up there. Richard, where is Richard! Richard, get me fresh clothes, everything. I will change in the library. I cannot walk upstairs. Hurry."

"Oh, you are really going to scare them out of their wits," cried Stella. "They'll think you've come to kill her."

"Why would I do that!" I demanded.

"Because she's stronger than us, don't you see? Oncle Julien, look to the legacy, as you are always instructing me. Isn't there a case for her claiming everything?"

"Certainly not," said I. "Not so long as Mary Beth has a daughter, and Stella, the daughter of Mary Beth, has a daughter of her own. Not much of a case."

"Well, they say there are provisions--having to do with power and such, and the witches' gifts, and all. And they hide that girl so we won't kill her."

Richard had come with my clothes. I hastily dressed, and to the teeth, for this ceremonial visit. I sent him for my riding coat--my Stutz Bearcat was open and the roads were muddy then--for my goggles, and for my gloves, and told him once more to hurry.

"You can't go up there," Mary Beth said. "You'll scare him to death and her to death too."

"If she's my granddaughter I'm going to get her."

I stormed to the front porch. I was feeling entirely myself, though I alone noticed one tiny deficit. I could not quite control the movement of my left foot. It would not arch and lift properly as I walked, so I had a little to drag it. But they didn't see it, damn them, they didn't know. Death had given a pinch. Death was coming. But I told myself I could live another score of years with this tiny infirmity.

As I went down the front steps, and had the boys help me up into the car, Stella clambered into my lap, nearly castrating and killing me simultaneously. And then out of the shadows beneath the oaks came Carlotta.

"Will you help her?"

"Of course I will," said I. "I will take her out of there. Horrible, horrible thing. Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

"I don't know," Carlotta said, and her face was stricken and her head was bowed. "The things she said she saw were terrible."

"You don't listen to the right people. Now, Richard, drive!"

And off we went, with Richard steering wildly up St. Charles Avenue, splattering mud and gravel, and finally running right up on the curb in his careless, amateurish way, on the corner of St. Charles and Amelia.

"This I have to see for myself, this child in the attic," I mumbled. I was in a rage. "And I will throttle Cortland when next he dares to come into my presence."

Stella helped me down from the car and then started jumping

up and down with excitement. This was one of her more endearing or irritating habits, all depending on how one felt at the moment.

"Look, Julien, darling," she cried. "Up there in the attic window."

Now you have no doubt seen this house. It stands today as solid as First Street.

And of course I had seen it too, as I have said, but I never set foot in it. I was not even sure how many Mayfairs lived there. It was, for my money, a pompous Italianate house, very proud yet very beautiful. It was all wood, yet designed to look as if it were stone, like our house. It had columns on the front, Doric down and Corinthian up, and a great alcoved door, and further back octagonal wings jutting out on both sides, and throughout rounded Italian-style windows. It was massive and bulky yet graceful. Not such a bad house, though not pure and old as ours was.