CHAPTER VI
CECILY REVEALS HERSELF
That night the two girls held a council of war.
"It's perfectly plain to me," said Marcia, "that that poor little thingis right under Miss Benedict's thumb. I think the way she's treated isscandalous--not allowed to go out, or speak to, or associate with, anyone! And scared out of her wits all the time, evidently. What on earthis she there for, anyhow?"
Janet scorned to reply to the old, unanswerable question. Instead sheremarked:
"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 relativesand family be? Miss Benedict certainly can't be a relative, for Cecilycalls her 'Miss.' To think of that lovely little thing without a soulto care for her--except ourselves. Why, Marcia, it's--it's amazing! Butthe main question now is what are we going to do about it? We _must_help her somehow!"
"I know what _I'm_ going to do about it," replied Marcia, decisively."I'm going to tell Aunt Minerva about it, and see if she can't--"
"Wait a minute," Janet reminded her. "You forget that Cecily fairlybegged us not to mention anything about her to any one."
"That's so," said Marcia, looking blank. "What _are_ we going to dothen?"
"There's only one thing I can think of," answered Janet, slowly. "MissBenedict may forbid Cecily to meet or speak to _us_, but she can'tforbid us meeting and speaking to Cecily, can she? So why can't we justwatch for Cecily to come out, and then go and join her? She can't stopus--she can't help herself; and between you and me, I think she'll beonly too delighted!"
"Good enough!" laughed Marcia. "But what an ogre that Miss Benedict mustbe! I'm horribly disappointed about her. After I heard her speak thattime I was sure she must be lovely. It doesn't seem possible that anyone with such a wonderful, sympathetic voice could be so--so downrighthateful to a dear little thing like Cecily."
"I must say it seems just horrid!" cried Janet, vehemently.
That night, after darkness had fallen, the two girls, settlingthemselves without a light at their open window, heard, as Marcia hadonce before described, the sound of running feet in the garden beyondthe wall. This time there was no doubt in their minds about it. It wascertainly Cecily, taking a little exercise, probably on the desertedpath.
"I wonder why she _runs_," marveled Marcia. "_I_ shouldn't feel likerunning around there all by myself."
"I think I can understand, though," added Janet. "She's cooped up allday in that dreary old place, and probably has to keep awfully quiet.I'd go crazy if I were shut in like that. I'd feel like--like jumpinghurdles when I got out of doors. And she's a country girl, too,remember. Get your violin, Marcia, and play something. I know it willcomfort her to know we're near by and thinking of her."
So Marcia brought her violin, and out into the darkness of the nightfloated the dreamy, tender melody of the "Traeumerei." The romance of thesituation appealed to her, and she played it as she never had before.
At the first notes the running footsteps ceased, and there was silencein the garden. When the music ended, they thought they could distinguisha soft little sound, half sigh, half sob, from the velvet blacknessbelow; but they could not be sure. And a little later came the click ofa closing door.
Marcia put down her violin. "The lonely, lonely little thing!" sheexclaimed, half under her breath.
* * * * *
For two days thereafter they maintained a constant, but fruitless, vigilover "Benedict's Folly." Cecily did not appear, either at her window oron a marketing expedition. Neither was there any sound of her footstepsin the garden at night.
The girls began to worry. Could it be that Miss Benedict had discoveredthe truth about the remedy for her sprained ankle and had, perhaps, shutCecily up in close confinement, or even sent her away altogether? Theywere by this time at a loss as to just what to think of that mysteriouslady.
On the third afternoon, however, to their intense relief, they sawCecily emerge from the house and walk toward the gate, with themarket-basket on her arm. It took them just about a minute and a half toreach the street.
Cecily came abreast of their own door-step in due time, her eyes castdown as usual; but they were waiting in the vestibule, and she did notsee them.
She was well in advance, but still in sight, when they came down thesteps and strolled in the same direction. It was not till they hadturned the corner that they raced after her, and at last, breathless,caught up with her.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a little start; "I--I did not expect to seeyou to-day. I--you mustn't come with me!" In spite of her words,however, it was evident that she was really delighted by theirunexpected appearance.
"Look here, Cecily," began Marcia, "why can't we join you when you go tomarket or are doing your errands?"
"Oh, that would be lovely!" answered Cecily--"only Miss Benedict usuallyasks me when I come in whether I have met or spoken to any one, and--Ican't tell what isn't true!"
Here was a poser! The girls looked crestfallen.
"No--you can't, of course," hesitated Janet.
"And besides that," went on Cecily, "this is the last time I shall go,anyhow, because she's very much better now,--the salve helped her anklevery much,--and she says she's going out herself after this. I don'texpect to get out again."
There was a moment of horrified silence after this blow. Then Janet, nolonger able to endure the bewilderment, burst out:
"Cecily dear, please forgive us if we seem to be prying into youraffairs. It's only because we think so much of you. But who _is_ MissBenedict, and what is she to you?"
"I don't know!" said Cecily slowly.
"You _don't know_!" they gasped in chorus.
"No, I really don't. It must seem very strange to you, and it does tome. Miss Benedict is a perfect stranger to me, and no relation, so faras I know. I never saw or heard of her before I came here."
"But why _are_ you here then?" demanded Marcia.
"I--don't know. It's all a mystery to me. But I'm so lonely I've criedmyself to sleep many a night."
"Won't you tell us all about it?" begged Marcia. "We're your friends,Cecily,--you say the only ones you have,--and we don't ask just out ofcuriosity, but because we're interested in you, and--and love you."
"Well, I will then," agreed the girl, as they walked along. "I'll justtell you how it all happened. Ever since I can remember anything, I'velived in Cranby, a little village in England. Mother and I lived theretogether. We never went anywhere, not even up to London, because she wasnever very strong. Father was dead; he died when I was a tiny baby, shetold me. We just had a happy, quiet life together, we two.
"Well, about the beginning of this year, Mother was suddenly taken very,very ill. I don't know what was the matter, but I hardly had time tocall in a neighbor and then bring the doctor." Cecily paused and chokeddown a rising sob.
"She--she just slipped away before we knew it," she went on, very low.Marcia pressed her hand in wordless sympathy. Presently Cecilycontinued:
"Afterward, the neighbor, Mrs. Waddington, told me that while I wasfetching the doctor Mother had begged her to see that, if she didn'trecover, I should be taken over to New York, and left with a familynamed Benedict, and she had Mrs. Waddington write down the address. Butjust then Mother grew so much worse that she couldn't explain why I wasto be taken there, or what they were to me or I to them. After it wasall over we searched everywhere, hoping to find some papers or lettersor something that would tell, but we found nothing. So Mrs. Waddingtonkept me with her for two or three months. Then a friend of hers, a Mrs.Bidwell, was going to the States, and it was arranged that I should goin her care. About two weeks before we sailed Mrs. Bidwell wrote to theBenedict family, saying she was bringing me to New York.
"So we sailed from Liverpool, and the very day we landed, Mrs. Bidwellbrought me here. We rang the old bell at the gate, and then waited andwaited. I thoug
ht no one would ever come. But at last the gate opened,and Miss Benedict stood there in her hat and veil.
"She acted very strangely from the first. Mrs. Bidwell told her allabout me, and she never said a single word, but only shook her headseveral times. I thought she was certainly going to refuse to take mein, her manner was so odd. After she had stood thinking a long time shesuddenly said to me, 'Come, then!' and to Mrs. Bidwell, 'I thank you!'And she led me inside, followed by the driver with my box, and shut thegate." Cecily stopped short, as if that were the end of the story.
"Oh, but--go on!" stammered Marcia, quivering with impatience.
"But I must do my marketing now," said Cecily. "Here we are at the shop.I'll tell you the rest when we come out."