CHAPTER XI
THE ROOM THAT WAS LOCKED
Before Cynthia could realize what had happened or was happening, Joyceseized her and began waltzing madly around the library, alternatelylaughing, sobbing, hugging, and shaking her distractedly.
"Stop, stop, Joyce! _Please!_" she begged breathlessly. "Have you gonecrazy? You act so! What is the matter?"
"_Matter!_-- You ask me _that_?" panted Joyce. "You great big_stupid_!--Why, we've discovered the way to the locked-up room!-- That'swhat's the matter!" Cynthia looked incredulous.
"Why, certainly!" continued Joyce. "Can't you _see_? You know that roomis right over this. Where else could those stairs lead, then? But comealong! We'll settle all doubts in a moment!" She snatched up a candleagain and led the way, Cynthia following without more ado.
"Oh, Joyce! It's horribly dirty and stuffy and cobwebby in here!Couldn't we wait a few moments till some air gets in?" implored Cynthiain a muffled voice.
"I sha'n't wait a moment, but you may if you wish," called back Joyce."But I know you won't! Mind your head! These are the tiniest, loweststairs I've ever seen!" They continued to crawl slowly up, their candlesflickering low in the impoverished air of the long-inclosed place.
"What if we can't open the door at the top?" conjectured Cynthia. "Whatif it's behind some heavy piece of furniture?"
"We'll just _have_ to get in somehow!" responded Joyce. "I've gone sofar now, that I believe I'd be willing to break things open with acharge of dynamite, if we couldn't get in any other way! Here I am, atthe top. Now you hold my candle, and we'll see what happens!" She handedher candle to Cynthia, braced herself, and threw her whole weightagainst the low door, which was knobless like the one below.
Then came the surprise. She had expected resistance, and prepared tocope with it. To her utter amazement, there was a ripping, tearingsound, and she found herself suddenly prone upon the floor of the mostmysterious room in the house! The reason for this being that the door atthe top was covered on the inner side with only a layer or two ofwall-paper, and no article of furniture happened to stand in front ofit. Consequently it had yielded with ease at the tremendous shove Joycehad given it, and she found herself thus forcibly and ignominiouslypropelled into the apartment.
"My!" she gasped, sitting up and dusting her hands, "but that wassudden! I don't care, though! I'm not a bit hurt, and--we're _in_!" Theywere indeed "in"! The mysterious, locked room was at last to yield upits secret to them. They experienced a delicious thrill of expectation,as, with their candles raised above their heads, they peered eagerlyabout.
Now, what they had expected to find within that mysterious room, theycould not perhaps have explained with any definiteness. Once they stoodwithin the threshold, however, they became slowly conscious of a vaguedisappointment. Here was nothing so very strange, after all! The roomappeared to be in considerable disorder, and articles of clothing,books, and boyish belongings were tossed about, as in a hurry ofpacking. But beyond this, there was nothing much out of the ordinaryabout it.
"Well," breathed Cynthia at length. "Is _this_ what we've been makingall the fuss about!"
"Wait!" said Joyce. "You can't see everything just at one glance. Let'slook about a little. Oh, what a dreadful hole we've made in thewall-paper! Well, it can't be helped now, and it's the only damage we'vedone." They commenced to tiptoe about the room, glancing curiously atits contents.
It was plainly a boy's room. A pair of fencing-foils hung crossed on onewall, a couple of boxing-gloves on another. College trophies decoratedthe mantel. On a center-table stood a photograph or daguerreotype in alarge oval frame. When Cynthia had wiped away the veil of dust thatcovered it, with the dust-cloth she had thoughtfully tucked in her belt,the girls bent over it.
"Oh, Cynthia!" cried Joyce. "Here they are--the Lovely Lady and her boy.He must have been about twelve then. What funny clothes he wore! Butisn't he handsome! And see how proudly she looks at him. Cynthia, how_could_ he bear to leave this behind! I shouldn't have thought he'd everwant to part with it."
"Probably he went in such a hurry that he couldn't think of everything,and left this by mistake. Or he may even have had another copy," Cynthiaadded in a practical after-thought.
Garments of many descriptions, and all of old-time cut, were flungacross the bed, and on the floor near it lay an open valise, halfpacked with books.
"He had to leave that too, you see, or perhaps he intended to send forit later," commented Joyce. "Possibly he didn't realize that his motherwas going to shut up the house and leave it forever. Here's his big,businesslike-looking desk, and in pretty good order too. I suppose hehadn't used it much, as he was so little at home. It's open, though."She began to dust the top, where a row of school-books were arranged,and presently came to the writing-tablet, which she was about to polishoff conscientiously. Suddenly she paused, stared, rubbed at somethingwith her duster, and bending close, stared again. In a moment she raisedher head and called in a low voice:
"Cynthia, come here!" Cynthia, who had been carefully dusting thecollege trophies on the mantel, hurried to her side.
"What is it? What have you found?" Joyce only pointed to a large sheetof paper lying on the blotter. It was yellow with age and covered withwriting in faded ink,--writing in a big, round, boyish hand. It began,--
"My dearest Mother--" Cynthia drew back with a jerk, scrupulouslyhonorable, as usual. "Ought we to read it, Joyce? It's a letter!"
"I did," whispered Joyce. "I couldn't help it for I didn't realize whatit was at first. I don't think it will harm. Oh, Cynthia, _read_ it!"And Cynthia, doubting no longer, read aloud:
MY DEAREST MOTHER,--the best and loveliest thing in my life,--I leave this last appeal here, in the hope that you will see it later, read it, and forgive me. We have had bitter words, but I am leaving you with no anger in my heart, and nothing but love. That we shall not see each other again in this life, I feel certain. Therefore I want you to know that, to my last hour, I shall love you truly, devotedly. I am so sure I am right, and I have pledged my word. I cannot take back my promise. I never dreamed that you feel as you do about this cause. My mother, my own mother, forgive me, and God keep you.
Your son, FAIRFAX.
When Cynthia had ended, there was a big lump in Joyce's throat, andCynthia herself coughed and flourished a handkerchief about her facewith suspicious ostentation. Suddenly she burst out:
"I think that woman must have had a--a heart of _stone_, to be sounforgiving to her son--after reading this!"
"_She never saw it!_" announced Joyce, with a positiveness that madeCynthia stare.
"_Well!_-- I'd like to know how you can say a thing like that!" Cynthiademanded at once. "It lay right there for her to see!"
"How do you account for this room being locked?" parried Joyce,answering the question, Yankee fashion, by asking another. Cynthiapondered a moment.
"I _don't_ account for it! But--why, of course! The boy locked it afterhim when he went away, and took the key with him!" Joyce regarded herwith scorn.
"That _would_ be a sensible thing to do, now, wouldn't it. He writes anote that he is hoping with all his heart that his mother will see.Then he calmly locks the door and walks off with the key! What for?"
"If he didn't do it, who did?" Cynthia defended herself. "Not theservants. They went before he did, probably. There's only one personleft--his mother!"
"You've struck it at last. What a good guesser you are!" said Joyce,witheringly. Then she relented. "Yes, she must have done it, Cynthia.She locked the door, and took the key away, or did something withit,--though what on earth _for_, I can't imagine!"
"But what makes you think she did it _before_ she read the note?"demanded Cynthia.
"There are just two reasons, Cynthia. She couldn't have been _human_ ifshe'd read that heart-rending letter and not gone to work at once andmade every effort to reach her son! But there's one other thing thatmakes me _sure_. Do you see anything _different_ about th
is room?"Cynthia gazed about her critically. Then she replied:
"Why, no. I can't seem to see anything so _different_. Perhaps I don'tknow what you mean."
"Then I'll tell you. Look at the windows! Are they like the ones in therest of the house?"
"Oh, no!" cried Cynthia. "Now I see! The curtains are not drawn, or theshutters closed. It's just dark because it's boarded up outside."
"That's precisely it!" announced Joyce. "You see, she must have gonearound closing all the other inside shutters tight. But she nevertouched them in this room. Therefore she probably never came in here.The desk is right by the window. She couldn't have helped seeing theletter if she had come in. No, for some reason we can't guess, shelocked the door,--and never knew!"
"And she never, never will know," whispered Cynthia. "That's the saddestpart of it!"