Augusta Huiell Seaman

“ Cecily, at last. "I'm here where I've no right to be. Nobody knows me—or wants me. How did it all happen? Don't I belong to anybody?" She looked so bewildered, so frightened, so unhappy, that Janet and Marcia both put their arms about her.
"It's all right, Cecily; it's sure to be all right—in the end. We would love you and want you if nobody else did. And I'm sure Miss Benedict must care for you too. She really acts so. But the question is, how did you ever come to be sent here at all? Didn't your mother ever say anything to you about this place or any of the people over here?" ”

“ The girl gave her a sudden, pleased glance. "I—I don't know," she said. "You see, Miss Benedict hurt her ankle a day or two ago, and she can't get around much, so—so I'm doing this for her. If she wants me to go to-morrow, I will. I'd be so glad to go with you. How shall I let you know?"
"Just hang a white handkerchief to your shutter before you go, and we'll see it. We'll watch for it!" cried Marcia, inventing the signal on the spur of the moment. And then, impetuously, she added:
"My name is Marcia Brett, and this is Janet McNeil. Won't you tell us yours, if we're to be friends?" ”

“ Two nights ago, I sat here by the window. It was too hot to turn on the light, but it was very dark outside. Presently I heard footsteps in the Benedict garden. They were light, quick footsteps, and sounded exactly as if some one were running about, or skipping and jumping. First I thought it must be a big dog, for it couldn't possibly have been either one of those two old ladies, running and skipping that way! And then I heard a soft humming, as if some one were singing a tune half under the breath. ”

“ One thing amuses me to pieces, Janet, every time I think of it. Do you remember how, when you first came to visit us last summer, I was explaining to you all I'd discovered about "Benedict's Folly" and flattering myself with the idea that I, or, rather, you and I, would work out the puzzle and solve the mystery—all by ourselves?
What little geese we were! A lot we did toward unraveling any of that tangle! Even father and Major Goodrich were way off the track. It took Aunt Minerva (the darling!) to walk right in and clear the whole thing up! Here's "Hurrah!" then, for Aunt Minerva! ”

“ Miss Benedict has never explained. She acts toward me as if I were a lodger, or—or some one she allowed to stay there for reasons of her own, but didn't particularly want to have about. She's kind to me, but never—friendly. Sometimes she looks at me in the strangest way—I can't imagine what she's thinking about. But why does she live like this?" and she turned inquiring eyes on the girls.
"I'm sure we don't know!" exclaimed Marcia. "We only wonder about it. The house seems to be all shut up." ”

“ At last, when all were tired, Cecily begged Marcia to play, and she laid her book aside and took up the violin.
"What shall I play?" she asked. "Something lively?"
"No," said Cecily. "Play something soft and sweet and dreamy. I feel just in that mood to-day. It's too hot for lively things."
Marcia played the Liszt "Liebestraum," and a lovely setting of the old Scotch song "Loch Lomond," and after that the "Melody in F." And then, at Cecily's entreating glance, she drifted, as usual, into the "Träumerei." ”

“ Even if Miss Benedict doesn't know about it, I know she would forbid it if she did. So—it would be wrong for me to do it!"
[Pg 79]
"Oh, Cecily! why should you care?" cried Marcia, impatiently, "And why should she object to three girls sending little notes to one another? It would be cruel to forbid that. It isn't really wrong, you know."
"But she isn't cruel to me," Cecily interrupted. "You mustn't think that. She—well, somehow, I feel she would be nice to me, only something is holding her back. She isn't a bit cruel. I sometimes feel as if I could care for her in spite of everything. ”

“ Marcia and Janet were never tired of discussing this question between themselves. That it was a relative, they could not doubt. And they recalled one or two remarks Miss Benedict had dropped, particularly when she had said: "We—that is—I have some means."
The "we" must certainly have referred to herself and the other one. But could that "other one" be mother, sister, aunt, or cousin? And why was there so much secrecy about her? Cecily had only said that Miss Benedict referred to her as "the lady in there who is not very well." But why conceal so carefully just an ordinary invalid? ”

“ Janet suddenly resolved on a bold move.
"Cecily is so lonely," she began, turning to Miss Benedict. "Don't you think it would do her lots of good to come in and visit us once in a while? Marcia's aunt would be so glad to see her. As soon as she is a little better, can't she—"
"No," interrupted Miss Benedict, her little figure suddenly stiffening and a determined note creeping into her soft voice. "I am sorry. Cecily cannot make visits. It is out of the question!" ”

“ Marcia, however, could not bring herself to this cheerful view of things. All night long she tossed beside the sleeping Janet, wondering and wondering about what the coming interview might mean, and blaming herself a thousand times for placing Cecily in the position of having deceived her guardian. When morning came she was pale and heavy-eyed, which alarmed her aunt not a little.
"You ought not go out this morning, Marcia," remarked Miss Minerva, anxiously. "The sun is very hot, and you look as if you had a headache." ”

“ The visit to Captain Brett's ship, The Empress of Oran, would have been an event, apart from any other interest involved in the expedition. Marcia and Janet had never in their lives been on board of an ocean steamer. Even the approach to it was fascinating,—the long, covered wharves with their strange, spicy odors, the bustle and activity of loading and unloading, [Pg 153] the narrow gangways, the dark waist of the vessel, and the immaculate white paint of the decks. ”

“ You don't know a soul in the house. And as far as I can see, you're not likely to if you lived here fifty years! Nobody calls on you as they do on a new family in the country. Nobody seems to care a rap who you are, or whether you live or die, or anything. And would you believe it, Janet, there isn't another girl in this whole apartment, either older or younger than myself! No one but grown-ups.
"So you can see how awfully lonesome I've been. And as Aunt Minerva had decided not to send me to high school till fall, I didn't have a chance to get acquainted with any one of my own age. ”

“ They entered obediently, and she shut the gate. It was not until they were inside the house, standing in the dim hall with the front door closed behind them, that another word was spoken. Then Miss Benedict faced them again, but she did not remove her bonnet or throw back her veil.
"I have asked you to come here this morning," she began, "because I understand that you have become acquainted with the child Cecily Marlowe."
Cold chills ran up and down their spines. It had come at last! "Yes," faltered Janet, "we—we have become acquainted with her." ”

“ Janet scorned to reply to the old, unanswerable question. Instead she remarked:
"She's breaking her heart about it, too. I can see that. And, Marcia, wasn't it strange—what she said just at the last—that she loved us, and that we were all she had to care for! Where can all her relatives and family be? Miss Benedict certainly can't be a relative, for Cecily calls her 'Miss.' To think of that lovely [Pg 63] little thing without a soul to care for her—except ourselves. Why, Marcia, it's—it's amazing! But the main question now is what are we going to do about it? We must help her somehow!" ”

“ The whole mysterious thing is in the secret, because no one but you knows I'm the least interested in the affair, and I don't want them to—now! I'll tell you what happened next."
But just at this moment they were interrupted by a knock at the door, and a voice inquiring:
"Girls, girls! haven't you gone to bed yet? I've heard you talking for the last hour."
"No, Aunt Minerva!" answered Marcia, "we are sitting by the window."
"Well, you must go to bed at once! It's nearly midnight. You won't either of you be fit for a thing to-morrow. Now, mind, not another word! Good-night!" ”

“ Don't forget them when you go in to-morrow," Miss Minerva reminded them. "I'd like to have her here and nurse her myself and feed her up a bit. And that's another strange thing—why should that woman" (Miss Minerva invariably alluded to Miss Benedict as "that woman") "allow you to go in and visit the child, yet forbid her to visit you?"
"Don't ask us why," laughed Marcia. "We're as much in the dark as any one else. What I want to know is why did Miss Benedict allow Cecily to open her shutters to-day when she refused her a while ago. ”

“ For years I have suffered with some obscure trouble in them. I can see, but I cannot stand any bright light. It hurts them beyond endurance. At home I must have the rooms darkened in this way. And when I go out, [Pg 140] even my heavy veil is not sufficient. Behind it I must also wear smoked spectacles."
She said no more, but she did not need to. A little inarticulate murmur of sympathy rose from her listeners. And in the twilight of the room Marcia glanced quickly and guiltily into Janet's contrite face. ”

“ I have always supposed that young folks were one and all curious, inquisitive, and thoughtless. That is one reason I was so—so strict with you—in the beginning. But you and those two nice girls next door have been a revelation to me.'
"Wasn't that lovely of her?" exclaimed Cecily, interrupting herself.
"Just darling!" cried Marcia. "But do go on, Cecily. We're crazy to hear what came next!"
"Well, next she said: 'People think I live a very singular life, I know. They think I'm eccentric—queer—crazy, even! Oh, I know it! ”

“ Cecily enlightened them. "And it makes it so dark and gloomy! There is lovely furniture in the drawing-room, but it is all covered over with some brown stuff—even the pictures. And most of the other rooms are not used at all—nothing on the ground floor. I eat down in the basement, and my bedroom is on the top floor—where I looked out that time. I have never been in any of the other bedrooms except Miss Benedict's, when her ankle was bad."
"But what do you do with yourself all day?" asked Janet. ”

“ Marcia appealed to him.
"It might—or it might not," he answered skeptically. "So many of these characters might be meaningless, as far as any personal application was concerned."
"Well, anyway, could we get them translated, just for our own satisfaction?" demanded Marcia.
"Nothing simpler!" smiled Captain Brett. "My boatswain is a Chinese—very learned man—reads his Confucius in off hours! He'd be sure to help you with it." ”

“ I used to watch once in a while to see if the little lady in black would go out again in the afternoon, as she did before, but she didn't. Then, a day or two later, I did something that surprised even myself, for I hadn't the faintest intention of doing it. I had been taking a walk that afternoon and was just coming home, passing on the way the high brick wall of the Benedict house. It was just as I reached the closed gate that an idea popped into my head.
"You know, they say that no visitors are ever admitted, and no rings or knocks at the gate are ever answered. ”

“ Benedict's been dead many years, and the [Pg 14] place looks as if no one lived there—but some one does! It's a daughter of his, a queer little old lady, who keeps herself shut up there all the time; some think she's alone, others say no, that some one else is there with her. No one seems to know definitely. Anyhow, although she is very wealthy, she does all the work herself, and the marketing; and she even carries home all the things, and won't allow a single one of the tradesmen to come in. ”

“ After a while, though, I got used to all the new things, and I'd seen all the sights, and Aunt Minerva had finished all the furnishing except the curtains and draperies (she's at that, yet!) , and all of a sudden everything fell flat. I hadn't begun my music-lessons, and there didn't seem to be a thing to do, or a single interest in life.
"The truth is, Jan, I was frightfully lonesome—for [Pg 7] you!" Here Marcia felt her hand squeezed in the darkness. "Perhaps you don't realize it, but living in an apartment in a big city is the queerest thing! ”

“ She never mentioned it, but then she seldom speaks of her mother, anyway. Though I always thought, from the way she acted, that she was very fond of her."
"It certainly grows more convincing with every added piece of news we hear," mused the captain. "I wish we could find some loophole for thinking that this tangle doesn't concern Cecily. But how on earth she can have any Chinese ancestry, beats me. She doesn't show a trace of it. One would certainly think she'd have almond eyes and coarse, straight hair, or a dark complexion, or something! ”

“ Janet and Marcia followed her meekly and in silence down to the front door. Here, in an uncertain pause, Marcia made one further suggestion.
"May we bring Cecily some quinine?" she ventured. "If she has malaria, she ought to have that. We have lots of it at home." ”

“ Can you?"
"No, I can't," admitted Janet. "And, more than that, where does Miss Benedict come in on this Chinese proposition? Nothing could be less connected with it than she! I believe she'd have a fit if she ever saw that awful-looking crowd of Chinese sailors your father had there a while ago. Did you ever see such a rascally looking lot? And poor little Cecily would be horrified!"
"I liked Lee Ching, though. He's so grave and serious and dignified. And isn't his English fascinating? I just love to hear him talk. ”

“ Once I opened them, when you were playing, but Miss Benedict came in just then and forbade me to do it again."
"Doesn't she ever let you go out and take a walk or get a little exercise?" questioned Marcia.
"No, the only times I have gone out have been just lately, when her ankle has been so bad. At night, after it is dark, she lets me run about the garden a bit, but never in the daytime."
"But how did she find out about your knowing us?" broke in Janet. ”