CHAPTER V
THE HANDKERCHIEF IN THE WINDOW
The next day was spent by the two girls in an expedition to one of thenear-by ocean beaches with Aunt Minerva. Under ordinary circumstances itwas a treat that would have delighted their hearts. But, as mattersstood, they only chafed with impatience to be back at their bedroomwindow, watching the house next door. The date for the trip, however,had been set some time before, and Aunt Minerva would have thought itvery strange if they had begged off, for such flimsy reason as theycould have offered.
The day after found them again on watch, though what they expected tosee they couldn't have told. It was plain that, in spite of appearances,Cecily Marlowe's friendly feeling toward them was undiminished. Thecharming backward smile had indicated _that_ unmistakably. But how tomake it fit in with her refusal to signal and her forbidding conductthey could not understand, and the mystery kept them in a constantferment of surmise.
But even as they sat discussing it next morning, their fancy-work lyingunheeded in their laps, they looked out suddenly with a simultaneousgasp of astonishment and delight. There was a tiny white handkerchiefattached to the shutter in the upper window and fluttering in thebreeze!
"It's the signal--our signal!" cried Marcia. "Now what shall wedo?--show that we've seen it by waving something? Here's my red silkscarf."
"No," decided Janet. "Perhaps she'd rather not have us do anything thatmight attract attention. Let's go right down to the street, as we saidwe would, and see if she's there."
They lost not a moment's time in reaching their front steps. But therewas no sign of Cecily till they had come abreast of the Benedict gate.This they discovered ajar, and two blue eyes peeping out of a narrowcrack. As they came in sight, there was a smothered exclamation, "Oh!I'm so glad!" The gate opened wider, and Cecily stood before them.
"You are _so_ good!" she began at once, in a low voice, stretching outboth hands to them. "I was afraid you--you wouldn't come. I left thesignal there almost all day yesterday--"
"We were away!" cried Marcia, promptly. "I'm _so_ sorry. We went--"
"Oh, then--oh, it's all right!" breathed Cecily, in relief. "I was sureyou were angry at--at the way--I acted."
It was on the tip of Marcia's tongue to demand why she _had_ acted so,but she refrained. And Cecily hurried on:
"I--I just had to signal for you. I--we are in great trouble--and Idon't know what to do."
"Oh, what _is_ it?" cried both girls together.
"Miss--Miss Benedict is very ill," she continued hesitatingly. "She--shefell and hurt her ankle the other day, and--it's been getting worseever since. She's in bed--suffering great pain both yesterday andto-day. It's terribly swelled--"
"But why doesn't she send for a doctor?" interrupted Janet, hastily."She _ought_ to have one if it's as bad as that."
"I asked her that, too, yesterday, and she only said: 'No, no! I cannot,must not have a doctor, child!' And when I asked what I could do forher, she answered, 'I don't know, I'm sure!' So there she lies--justsuffering. And--and I couldn't think of anything else to do, so Isignaled to you. You are my only friends--in all this city!"
There was something infinitely pathetic about the way she brought outthis last statement. It touched the hearts of both her listeners, andbecause of it they inwardly forgave her, once and for all, for anyaction of hers that had offended them. And they had the good sense notto comment on the strangeness of Miss Benedict's behavior.
"Well, if she won't have a doctor, we must think what else there is tobe done," began Janet, practically.
"I wish you'd let me bring Aunt Minerva in to see her," said Marcia."She hurt her ankle just like that, two years ago, and she'd knowexactly what--"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Cecily, starting forward. "Miss Benedict would notwant that--does not want to see any one. Please--_please_ do not even_mention_ to your aunt anything about her--or me! Miss Benedict wouldnot wish it."
The request was certainly very peculiar, but the girls were able toconceal their surprise, great as it was. "Very well," said Marcia,soothingly. "If you'd rather have it that way, we certainly won't speakof it. But I've just had another idea. I remember Aunt Minerva had acertain kind of salve that she used for her ankle, and she kept ittightly bandaged on. It did her lots of good--cured her, in fact. Now Ibelieve I could get that salve at a drug-store here--"
"Oh, _could_ you?" exclaimed Cecily, in immense relief. "Let us go atonce."
"But you needn't trouble to go," said Marcia. "We won't be ten minutesand will come right back with it."
"I prefer to go," replied Cecily Marlowe, with such an air of quietfinality that neither dared to question it. All three started out, afterCecily had locked the gate, and proceeded to the nearest drug-store.Here Marcia made the purchase, and paid for it from the change in herown hand-bag. But when they were outside the store Cecily turned to hergravely:
"I have a little English money of my own, but I did not like to offer itin the shop. If you will--will tell me how much the salve cost--inshillings--I will give it to you." And she held out several Englishshillings to Marcia.
"Oh, you needn't do that! I'm glad to be able to think of something todo for Miss Benedict. It's such a little matter--"
"Please!" reiterated Cecily. "I wish to tell her I bought it myself."
"Why?" cried Marcia, and then the next moment wished she could recall aquestion that seemed to border on the personal.
"Because I--I dare not tell her I have--have been talking to you!"hesitated Cecily, in an unusual burst of candor. And after thatrevelation they all walked back to the gate in an uneasy silence.
When they stood again in front of the blank barrier to the mysterioushouse, Cecily turned to Marcia.
"I love your music," she said. "I always listen to it whenever you play.I knew you had been playing--just for me--these last few days, and Iwanted to look out of my window and--and wave to you, but--I must not. Iam always there when you play--listening. I wanted you to know it."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Marcia, delightedly. "I _hoped_ it would pleaseyou. I'll play more than ever now. I'll do all my practising there,too."
"Cecily," said Janet, abruptly, venturing on personal ground for thefirst time, "you are very lonely there, in that big house, with no otheryoung folks, aren't you?"
"Yes," answered Cecily, speaking very low, and glancing in an uncertainway at the gate.
"Well, why don't you ask--er--Miss Benedict, if you couldn't run in andvisit us once in a while, or go out for a walk with us sometimes? Surelyshe wouldn't object to that."
"Oh, no, no!" cried Cecily, hastily. "I'd--oh, _how_ I'd love to,but--but--it wouldn't do,--it wouldn't be allowed! No, I must not."There was nothing more to be said.
"At least, then," added Marcia, "you'll let us know if you need anythingelse--you'll signal to us?"
"Yes," said Cecily, "I'll do that." She got out the key, and unlockedthe gate. Then she faced them with a sudden, passionate sob.
"You are so wonderfully good to me! I love you--both! You're all I haveto--care for!"
Then the gate was shut, and they heard her footsteps fleeing up thepathway.