CHAPTER XXIV
SYLVIA'S MYSTERY
Dunham and Miss Derwent prolonged their walk, and an hour had elapsedbefore they returned to the piazza. By that time Sylvia was sittingthere in the moonlight with her aunt.
She had been telling herself how glad she was that John and Edna feltfree to go away without her. It was only the assurance that she shouldnot be in danger of hampering them that would make her happy inaccepting Edna's invitation to prolong her stay.
How glorious the world must look to-night to Edna! This enchantingevening world with its dreaming waves, and myriad spires of fragrantfirs stretching toward the luminous sky strewn thickly with pulsingstars. She shook off some thought that insinuated itself into herconscious desire. No, no. Her place was here with Aunt Martha. Herthought must dwell only on the possible artistic achievements of herfuture; her heart turn to no lover save the good genius she had sealedup in a bottle.
While her thoughts flowed, Miss Lacey talked. The latter was chieflyconcerned with the menu for the coming week, and since Sylvia's descentupon the culinary department she seized upon her as a kindred spirit.
"Catering for men is very different from feeding women, I can tell you,Sylvia. They're not going to be put off with a little salad, or fruitand whipped cream, or fal-lals of that sort. We must have roasts andsteaks now, besides what my father used to call Cape Codturkey,--that's codfish, my dear. Jenny's boiled cod and egg sauce isperfectly delicious, and fish does make brains, they say. I supposeJudge Trent would like to have us feed it to Mr. Dunham."
"I hope you don't intend to tell the house party that," remarkedSylvia.
Miss Martha giggled. "Well, things are comparative. Judge Trent is sosurpassingly clever, and when you see this great big fellow in theoffice with him you can't help thinking of quality and quantity, youknow; but he must have an average mind anyway, or your uncle wouldn'thave any use for him. There they come now."
Two slow-moving figures appeared among the trees, and advanced to thepiazza. "Welcome, wanderers," went on Miss Martha, repressing a yawn."I think I shall bequeath Sylvia to you now, and retire."
Her niece knew that no implication of reproach was intended in thisspeech, but she dreaded that the others might misunderstand.
"I don't need to be bequeathed to any one," she declared. "I'm likethat poet who said he was never less alone than when alone. Fancy beinglonely on this island in the company of these stars and waves andpines! Edna, when you wish to move your family away, and leave thecottage in the care of a hermit, I speak to be the hermit."
"I see you are properly captured," returned Edna.
"She's fallen in love with the cook stove now," remarked Miss Martha."I told her she'd had a couple of spies on her doings."
Edna glanced at her guest. Sylvia's smiling, inquiring eyes looked fromher to John, who spoke:--
"Yes, there you were stirring some mysterious caldron," he answered;"there in the dark of the moon, and there was something so fiery aboutyour countenance and attitude that we didn't dare remain."
"You were wise," returned Sylvia. "I thought I felt some presence.Didn't you hear me say,--
'By the pricking of my thumbs Something wicked this way comes'?"
"Well, we're expecting to benefit by your labors in time," said John.
"I wish I thought you would," returned Sylvia dreamily.
"Oh, don't be so modest. Let us judge, anyway."
"I've no doubt you would be a judge," said the girl meditatively.
"Say will be," he corrected.
Sylvia lifted her shoulders with a little gesture of dread.
"I haven't positively made up my mind that I dare try it on you," shesaid softly.
"Oh, you must. You'll find me the most docile dog in the pack."
Edna listened with annoyance. She had suddenly become critical ofSylvia's manner.
The girl turned to her.
"Will it be necessary to go to the Mill Farm before afternoon,to-morrow?" she asked.
"Perhaps not. Why?"
"Because there is--because I want--I should like to stay here in themorning."
"Mr. Dunham and I might go over without you," suggested Edna. "Mrs. Lemcould doubtless give me what you want."
The alacrity of Sylvia's assent to this proposition puzzled the hostessstill further.
"Oh, no, there'd be plenty of time if we went in the afternoon," saidJohn. "Let's take the witch with us for luck."
Edna regarded him as he stood against a boulder pillar looking down atSylvia. "She may not need to use her bottle," was her reflection.
"Do sing us something, Edna," said Sylvia.
"Not to-night, please. I don't feel like singing; and when I don't itis an infliction on my poor audience."
"I wish you would, Edna. I've not heard you," said Dunham.
"Just the reason why I refuse," she returned. "I'm far too vain."
"She is the spirit of music," said Sylvia, regarding her hostessaffectionately.
"But the spirit isn't always willing?" asked Dunham.
"No, not always," returned Edna, rising. "This is Liberty Hall, people,so don't move till you get ready; but if you'll excuse me I'm going tobed."
Sylvia rose at once. She would like to linger on this dim piazza forhours, and to fancy that Dunham stayed too from choice and not fromcourtesy; but she well knew that the charm of the occasion would vanishwith Edna, and even if it were not so, the Prince's companionship wasnot for her without the Princess.
Dunham turned to her. "It isn't sleepy time for you, too, is it?"
"Yes, I believe it is. I'm sorry to be so--so unsporty."
"It's all a bluff, too. Just as if we didn't know that as soon as therest of us innocents are quiet and dreaming of blueberries, your windowwill fly open and off you'll go on a broomstick."
Sylvia smiled. "I don't believe any one of this party will dream ashard of blueberries as I shall," she declared.
"Come now, you know you're trading on a man's supposed superiority tocuriosity,--only supposed, mind you."
"I never even supposed it," put in Sylvia with light scorn.
"Tell me what you were brewing on that stove to-night."
Edna's features were rigid in her impatience with John's pursuance ofan uncomfortable subject. They were all in the living-room now, and sheand Sylvia were standing with lighted candles in their hands.
Sylvia pursed her lips demurely. "I will--perhaps--if it works, Mr.Dunham."
"Works? Ferments, do you mean? Now you're talking sense. No unfermentedgrape juice in mine."
Sylvia laughed and looked around at Edna, who was grave and seemedwaiting politely. "Poor Edna. She's tired," she thought, and nodding agood-night to John, she moved toward the stairs. "I'll see you when youcome up, Edna," she added, and disappeared.
Dunham watched the light figure in its swift ascent, and then turnedtoward his hostess.
"She won't tell us," he announced, smiling.
"How could you keep on talking about it, John?" said Edna, speakinglow.
His face fell at her tone. "Why not?" he asked blankly. "Have youchanged your mind about its being a joke?"
"Oh--I"--Edna scarcely understood her own attitude toward the littleincident, and hesitated most uncharacteristically. "I think it wasrather foolish and--and unpleasant, somehow. I--good-night, John," sheput out her hand and he took it. "I hope you won't know anything aboutthe sunrise, and that the cradle of the deep won't be too noisy foryou. You needn't lock up. Just close the doors and window when you'reready to come in. We don't insult Arcady with bolts. Good-night."
The following day dawned bright. Edna regarded the extraordinary lightin Sylvia's eyes and her unwonted gayety of manner at thebreakfast-table with mental questioning.
"The most annoying thing has occurred," she said. "This day of all daysthe carpenters for whom I've been waiting all summer have turned up. Ishan't be able to leave home. Could you people wait until to-morrow togo over to the farm?"
"I'm afraid not," returned John. "I must go and report, as well as makemyself more presentable. Who knows what to-morrow may be like? Asprobably as not Neptune will be throwing snowballs in all directions."
"And when he does, Edna sings!" exclaimed Sylvia, turning her vital,sparkling gaze on her hostess. "You'd better hope he does;--but notto-day, not to-day!" Her voice dropped to a low, exultant note, andthen she laughed and blushed, meeting John's quizzical, curious look.
"By Jove, I believe the stuff _has_ worked and she's been trying it,Edna," he said. "It's early in the day, but she's lit up for a fact.How was your ride, little witch?"
"The grandest thing you ever knew. I'd have taken you up behind me ifI'd known what it was going to be. There's nothing like a bird's-eyeview of this region."
"What are you talking about, Sylvia?" asked Miss Martha.
"Why, I rode all over Casco Bay last night on a broomstick. It was likevisiting a wonderful picture gallery. There was a planet that cast apath across the water as the moon sank. The headlands jutted out intothe waves, the cottages nestled among the trees. I went to the MillFarm and looked through Uncle Calvin's window and blew him a kiss as helay asleep."
"Did he have his hat on?" inquired Miss Martha, and John and Ednalaughed.
"Why didn't you bring home your clothes?" asked Edna.
"I did try to, but the broomstick bucked so when I tried to passthrough my window, I saw I should raise the household, and I didn'twant to startle them; so I raced away home again above the waves, whileall the stars sang together!"
"Have you been taking a foolish powder?" inquired Miss Martha, cuttingher beefsteak.
"You'll travel by wave to-day," remarked John. "I don't propose to goover to the Tide Mill afoot and alone."
"After noon, then."
"Very well. Have it your own way. You'd get ducked less this morning,though."
"Yes, but something might happen to keep us. We might not get back inthe afternoon."
"Why, she's just crazy about this place, Edna," remarked Miss Lacey.
Edna smiled with the grace of a gratified hostess, but she did notraise her eyes. Sylvia was crazy about something, but what was it? Sheseemed transformed from the quiet, intense, grateful girl whomThinkright brought to the island so recently.
As they rose from the table Sylvia eyed John curiously.
"I suppose you'll go pretty soon to see Benny about getting the boatfor this afternoon, won't you?" she asked.
"Yes," he rejoined. "You'd better come with me."
"No," her breath caught, and she flushed so deeply that he looked ather in wonder. "I can't. I have something to do. I--you'd better gosoon, for he might take the boat off for the day, you know."
John hooked his thumbs in his trousers pockets and regarded her at easeand at length.
"You're the guiltiest-looking being I ever saw," he remarked. "Icouldn't be retained to defend you unless you could contrive adifferent expression. Now take the advice of one who knows, and don'tgo near that bottle again this morning."
Sylvia gave a breathless little laugh, and her eyes shone through theembarrassment caused by his curious gaze.
"That's just"--she began. "No. Go along, please. I can't go with you."
"Creature of mysteries"--he began.
"Do go on. You really must get a boat. I'm ashamed to be borrowingEdna's clothes," and she ran away upstairs.
Half an hour later she was lost. Edna had been captured by her workmen.Miss Lacey was closeted with Jenny. Dunham lingered with the newspaperon the piazza, thinking he would speak once more with Sylvia before heleft on his quest, but she did not reappear.
At last he went and stood beneath her window and called. He could seethe white curtains swaying gently in the morning air, but no blitheface appeared between them. No voice answered his call.
Miss Lacey came out of the house, carrying a pot of water for the sweetpeas.
"I can't think what has become of Sylvia," she said. "I've been lookingfor her, too. I certainly didn't see her go out."
"All right. If she left by the window I might as well be off," herejoined. "I didn't know the broomstick worked by day. I thought it wasonly the other end."
"I guess, to tell the truth," returned Miss Lacey, laughing, "Sylviadoesn't know much more about one end of the broom than she does of theother."