CHAPTER XII
LIGHT DAWNS ON MISS CAMILLA
"What do you make of it all, Sally?"
The two girls were sitting in the pine grove on the heights of SlipperPoint. They sat each with her back against a tree and with theenchanting view of the upper river spread out panoramically before them.Each of them was knitting,--an accomplishment they had both recentlyacquired.
"I can't make anything of it at all, and I've thought of it day andnight ever since," was Sally's reply. "It's three weeks now since theday we came through that tunnel and discovered where it ended. Andexcept what Miss Camilla told us that day, she's never mentioned a thingabout it since."
"It's strange, how she stopped short, just after she'd said the writingwas her brother's," mused Doris. "And then asked us in the next breathnot to question her about it any more, and to forgive her silence inthe matter because it probably concerned something that was painful toher."
"Yes, and kept the paper we found in the cave," went on Sally. "Ibelieve she wanted to study it out and see what she could make of it. Ifshe's sure it was written by her brother, she will probably be able topuzzle it out better than we would. One thing, I guess, is certain,though. It isn't any secret directions where to find treasure. All ourlittle hopes about that turned out very differently, didn't they?"
"Sally, are you glad or sorry we've discovered what we did about thatcave?" demanded Doris suddenly.
"Oh, glad, of course," was Sally's reply. "At first, I was awfullydisgusted to think all my plans and hopes about it and finding buriedtreasure and all that had come to nothing. But, do you know what hasmade me feel differently about it?" She looked up quickly at Doris.
"No, what?" asked her companion curiously.
"It's Miss Camilla herself," answered Sally. "I used to think you wererather silly to be so crazy about her and admire her so much. I'd neverthought anything about her and I'd known her most all my life. But sinceshe asked us that day to come and see her as often as we liked and stopat her house whenever we were up this way, and consider her as ourfriend, I've somehow come to feel differently. I'm glad we took her ather word and did it. I don't think I would have, if it hadn't been foryou. But you've insisted on our stopping at her house so frequently, andwe've become so well acquainted with her that I really think I--Ialmost--love her."
It pleased Doris beyond words to hear Sally make this admission. Shewanted Sally to appreciate all that was fine and admirable and lovely inMiss Camilla, even if she were poor and lonely and deaf. She felt thatthe friendship would be good for Sally, and she knew that she herselfwas profiting by the increased acquaintance with this friend they had sostrangely made.
"Wasn't it nice of her to teach us to knit?" went on Sally. "She said weall ought to be doing it now to help out our soldiers, since the countryis at war."
"She's taught me lots beside that," said Doris. "I just love to hear hertalk about old potteries and porcelains and that sort of thing. I dobelieve she knows more about them than even grandfather does. She'smaking me crazy to begin a collection myself some day when I'm oldenough. She must have had a fine collection once. I do wonder whatbecame of it."
"Well, I don't understand much about all that talk," admitted Sally. "Inever saw any porcelains worth while in all my life, except that littlething she has on her mantel. And I don't see anything to get so crazyabout in that. It's kind of pretty, of course, but why get excited aboutit? What puzzles me more is why she never has said what became of allher other things."
"That's a part of the mystery," said Doris. "And her brother's mixed upin it somehow, and perhaps her father. That much I'm sure of. She talksfreely enough about everything else except those things, so that must beit. Do you know what I'm almost tempted to think? That her brother _did_commit some crime, and her father hid him away in the cave to escapefrom justice, but she couldn't have known about it, that's plain.Because she did not know about the cave and tunnel at all till justlately. Perhaps she wondered what became of him. And maybe they sold allher lovely porcelains to make up for what he'd done somehow."
"Yes," cried Sally in sudden excitement. "And another idea has just cometo me. Maybe that queer paper was a note her brother left for her andshe can't make out how to read it. Did you ever think of that?"
"Why, no!" exclaimed Doris, struck with the new idea. "I never thoughtof it as anything he might have left for _her_. Do you remember, shesaid once they were awfully fond of each other, more even than mostbrothers and sisters? It would be perfectly natural if he _did_ want toleave her a note, if he had to go away and perhaps never come back. Andof course he wouldn't want any one else to understand what it said. Oh,wait!--I have an idea we've never thought of before. Why on earth havewe been so _stupid_!--"
She sprang up and began to walk about excitedly, while Sally watchedher, consumed with curiosity. At length she could bear the suspense nolonger.
"Well, for pity's sake tell me what you've thought of!" she demanded."I'll go wild if you keep it to yourself much longer."
"Where's that copy?" was all Doris would reply. "I want to study it amoment." Sally drew it from her pocket and handed it to her, and Dorisspent another five minutes regarding it absorbedly.
"It is. It surely is!" she muttered, half to herself. "But how are weever going to think out how to work it?" At last she turned to theimpatient Sally.
"I'm a fool not to have thought of this before, Sally. I read a bookonce,--I can't think what it was now, but it was some detectivestory,--where there was something just a little like this. Not that itlooked like this, but the idea was the same. If it is what I think, itisn't the note itself at all. The note, if there is one, must besomewhere else. This is only a secret _code_, or arrangement of theletters, so that one can read the note by it. Probably the real note iswritten in such a way that it could never be understood at all withoutthis. Do you understand?"
Sally had indeed grasped the idea and was wildly excited by it.
"Oh, Doris," she cried admiringly. "You certainly _are_ a wonder to havethought all this out! It's ten times as interesting as what we firstthought it was. But how do you work this code? I can't make anything outof it at all."
"Well, neither can I, I'll have to admit. But here's what I _think_. Ifwe could see what that note itself looks like, we could perhaps manageto puzzle out just how this code works."
"But how are we going to do that?" demanded Doris. "Only Miss Camillahas the note, if there _is_ a _note_, and certainly we couldn't verywell ask her to let us see it, especially after what she said to us thatday."
"No, we couldn't, I suppose," said Doris, thoughtfully. "And yet--" shehesitated. "I somehow feel perfectly certain that Miss Camilla doesn'tknow the meaning of all this yet, hasn't even guessed what we have,about this paper. She doesn't act so. Maybe she doesn't even know there_is_ a note,--you can't tell. If she hasn't guessed, it would be a mercyto tell her, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose so," admitted Sally dubiously. "But I wouldn't know howto go about it. Would you?"
"I could only try and do my best, and beg her to forgive me if I wereintruding," said Doris. "Yes, I believe she ought to be told. You can'ttell how she may be worrying about all this. She acts awfully worried,seems to me. Not at all like she did when we first knew her. I believewe ought to tell her right now. Call Genevieve and we'll go over."
Sally called to Genevieve, who was playing in the boat on the beachbelow, and that young lady soon came scrambling up the bank. Hand inhand, all three started to the home of Miss Camilla and when they hadreached it, found her sitting on her tiny porch knitting in apparentlyplacid content. But, true to Doris's observation, there were anxiouslines in her face that had not been seen a month ago. She greeted them,however, with real pleasure, and with her usual hospitality profferedrefreshments, this time in the shape of some early peaches she hadgathered only that morning.
But Doris who, with Sally's consent, had constituted herself spokesman,before accepting the refreshment, began:
; "Miss Camilla, I wonder if you'll forgive us for speaking of somethingto you? It may seem as if we were intruding, but we really don't intendto."
"Why, speak right on," exclaimed that lady in surprise. "You are toowell-bred to be intrusive, that I know. If you feel you must speak ofsomething to me, I know it is because you think it wise or necessary."
Much relieved by this assurance, Doris went on, explaining how she hadsuddenly had a new idea concerning the mysterious paper and detailingwhat she thought it might be. As she proceeded, a new light ofcomprehension seemed to creep into the face of Miss Camilla, who hadbeen listening intently.
"So we think it must be a code,--a secret code,--Miss Camilla. And ifyou happen to have any queer sort of note or communication that you'venever been able to make out, why this may explain it," she added.
When she had finished, Miss Camilla sat perfectly still--thinking. Shethought so long and so intently that it seemed as if she must haveforgotten completely the presence of the three on the porch with her.And after what seemed an interminable period, she did a strange thing.Instead of replying with so much as a word, she got up and went intothe house, leaving them open-mouthed and wondering.
"Do you suppose she's angry with us?" whispered Sally. "Do you think weought to stay?"
"No, I don't think she's angry," replied Doris in a low voice. "I thinkshe's so--so absorbed that she hardly realizes what she's doing or thatwe are here. We'd better stay."
They stayed. But so long was Miss Camilla gone that even Doris began todoubt the wisdom of remaining any longer.
But presently she came back. Her recently neat dress was grimy anddishevelled. There was a streak of dust across her face and a cobweb layon her hair. Doris guessed at once that she had been in the old, unusedportion of her house. But in her hand she carried something, andresuming her seat, she laid it carefully on her knee. It was a littlebook about four inches wide and six or seven long, with an old-fashionedbrown cover, and it was coated with what seemed to be the dust of years.The two girls gazed at it curiously, and when Miss Camilla had got herbreath, she explained:
"I can never thank you enough for what you have told me today. It throwslight on something that has never been clear to me,--something that Ihave even forgotten for long years. If what you surmise is true, then amystery that has surrounded my life for more than fifty years will be atlast explained. It is strange that the idea did not occur to me whenfirst you girls discovered the cave and the tunnel, but even then itremained unconnected in my mind with--_this_." She pointed to the littlebook in her lap. Then she went on:
"But, now, under the circumstances, I feel that I must explain it all toyou, relying still on your discretion and secrecy. For I have come toknow that you are both unusually trustworthy young folks. There has beena dark shadow over my life,--a darker shadow than you can perhapsimagine. I told you before of my father's opinions and leanings duringthe years preceding the Civil War. When that terrible conflict brokeout, he insisted that I go away to Europe with my aunt and stay thereas long as it lasted, providing me with ample funds to do so. I thinkthat he did not believe at first that the struggle would be so long.
"I went with considerable reluctance, but I was accustomed to obeyinghis wishes implicitly. I was gone two years, and in all that time Ireceived the most loving and affectionate letters constantly, both fromhim and also my brother. They assured me that everything was well withthem. My brother had enlisted at once in the Union Army and had foughtthrough a number of campaigns. My father remained here, but was doinghis utmost, so he said, in a private capacity, to further the interestsof the country. Altogether, their reports were glowing. And though I wasoften worried as to the outcome, and apprehensive for my brother'ssafety, I spent the two years abroad very happily.
"Then, in May of 1863, my first calamity happened. My aunt died verysuddenly and unexpectedly, while we were in Switzerland, and, as we hadbeen alone, it was my sad duty to bring her back to New York. After herfuneral, I hurried home here, wondering very much that my father had notcome on to be with me, for I had sent him word immediately upon myarrival. My brother, I suspected, was away with the army.
"I was completely astounded and dismayed, on arriving home, at thecondition of affairs I found here. To begin with, there were no servantsabout. Where they had gone, or why they had been dismissed, I could notdiscover. My father was alone in his study when I arrived, which wasrather late in the evening. He was reserved and rather taciturn in hisgreeting to me, and did not act very much pleased to welcome me back.This grieved me greatly, after my long absence. But I could see that hewas worried and preoccupied and in trouble of some kind. I thought thatperhaps he had had bad news about my brother Roland, but he assured methat Roland was all right.
"Then I asked him why the house was in such disorder and where theservants were, but he only begged me not to make inquiries about thatmatter at present, but to go to my room and make myself as comfortableas I could, and he would explain it all later. I did as he asked me andwent to my room. I had been there about an hour, busying myself withunpacking my bag, when there was a hurried knock at my door. I went toopen it, and gave a cry of joy, for there stood my brother Roland.
"Instead of greeting me, however, he seized my hand and cried: 'Fatheris very ill. He has had some sort of a stroke. Hurry downstairs to himat once. I must leave immediately. I can't even wait to see how he is.It is imperative!'
"'But, Roland,' I cried, 'surely you won't go leaving Father like this!'But he only answered, 'I must. I must! It's my duty!' He seized me inhis arms and kissed me, and was gone without another word. But before hewent, I had seen--a dreadful thing! He was enveloped from head to footin a long, dark military cape of some kind, reaching almost to his feet.But as he embraced me under the light of the hall lamp, the cloak wasthrown aside for an instant and I had that terrible glimpse. Under theconcealing cloak my brother was wearing a uniform of _Confederate gray_.
"I almost fainted at the sight, but he was gone before I could utter aword, without probably even knowing that I _had_ seen. This, then, wasthe explanation of the mysterious way they had treated me. They had goneover to the enemy. They were traitors to their country and their faith,and they did not want me to know. For this they had even sent me awayout of the country!...
"But I had no time to think about that then. I hurried to my father andfound him on the couch in his study, inert in the grip of a paralyticstroke that had deprived him of the use of his limbs and also ofcoherent speech. I spent the rest of the night trying to make himeasier, but the task was difficult. I had no one to send for a doctorand could not leave him to go myself, and of course the nearest doctorwas several miles away. There was not even a neighbor who could becalled upon for assistance.
"All that night, however, my father tried to tell me something. Hisspeech was almost absolutely incoherent, but several times I caught thesound of words like 'notebook' and explain.' But I could make nothing ofit. In the early morning another stroke took him, and he passed awayvery quietly in my arms.
"I can scarcely bear, even now, to recall the days that followed. Afterthe funeral, I retired very much into myself and saw almost no one. Ifelt cut off and abandoned by all humanity. I did not know where mybrother was, could not even communicate with him about the death of ourfather. Had he been in the Union Army I would have inquired. But theglimpse I had had that night of his rebel uniform was sufficient to sealmy lips forever. There was no one in the village whom I knew well enoughto discuss any such matters with, nor any remaining relative with whom Iwas in sympathy. I could only wait for my brother's return to solve themystery.
"But my brother never returned. In all these years I have neither seenhim nor heard of him, and I know beyond doubt that he is long sincedead. And I have remained here by myself like a hermit, because I feelthat the shame of it all has hung about me and enveloped me, and Icannot get away from it. Once, a number of years ago, an old villagegossip here, now long since gone, said to me, 'There was something quee
rabout your father and brother, now wasn't there, Miss Camilla? I'veheard tell as how they were "Rebs" on the quiet, during the big warawhile back. Is that so?' Of course, the chance remark only served toconfirm the suspicions in my mind, though I denied it firmly to her whenshe said it.
"I also found to my amazement, when I went over the house after all wasover, that many things I had loved and valued had strangely disappeared.All the family silver, of which we had had a valuable set inherited fromRevolutionary forefathers, was gone. Some antique jewelry that I hadpicked up abroad and prized highly was also missing. But chief of all,my whole collection of precious porcelains and pottery was nowhere to befound. I searched in every conceivable nook and cranny in vain. And atlast the disagreeable truth was forced on me that my father and brotherhad sold or disposed of them, for what ends I could not guess. But itonly added to my bitterness to think they could do such a despicablething without so much as consulting me.
"But now, at last, I come to the notebook. I found it among some papersin my father's study desk, a while after his death, and I franklyconfess I could make nothing of it whatever. It seemed to be filled withfigures, added and subtracted, and, as my father had always been ratherfond of dabbling with figures and mathematics, I put it down as beingsome quiet calculations of his own that had no bearing on anythingconcerning me. I laid it carefully away with his other papers, however,and there it has been, in an old trunk in the attic of the unused partall these years. When you spoke of a 'secret code,' however, itsuddenly occurred to me that the notebook might be concerned in thematter. Here it is."
She held it out to them and they crowded about her eagerly. But as shelaid it open and they examined its pages, a disappointed look crept intoSally's eyes.
"Why, there's nothing there but numbers"]
"Why, there's nothing here but _numbers_!" she exclaimed, and it waseven so. The first few lines were as follows:
56 + 14 - 63 + 43 + 34 + 54 + 64 + 43 + 16 - 52 + 66 + 52 + 15 + 23 - 66 + 24 - 15 + 44 + 43 - 43 + 64 + 43 + 24 + 15 - 61 + 53 - 36 + 24 + 14 - 51 + 15 + 53 + 54 + 43 + 52 + 43 + 43 + 15 - 16 + 66 + 52 + 36 + 52 + 15 + 43 + 23 -
And all the rest were exactly like them in character.
But Doris, who had been quietly examining it, with a copy of the code inher other hand, suddenly uttered a delighted cry:
"I have it! At least, I _think_ I'm on the right track. Just examinethis code a moment, Miss Camilla. If you notice, leaving out the line offigures at the top and right of the whole square, the rest is just theletters of the alphabet and the figures one to nine and another '0'that probably stands for 'naught.' There are six squares across and sixsquares down, and those numbers on the outside are just one to six, onlyall mixed up. Don't you see how it could be worked? Suppose one wantedto write the letter 't.' It could be indicated by the number '5'(meaning the square it comes under according to the top line of figures)and '1' (the number according to the side line). Then '51' would standfor letter 'T,' wouldn't it?"
"Great!" interrupted Sally, enthusiastically, who had seen the methodeven quicker than Miss Camilla. "But suppose it worked the other way,reading the side line first? Then 'T' would be '15.'"
"Of course, that's true," admitted Doris. "I suppose there must havebeen some understanding between those who invented this code about whichline to read first. The only way we can discover it is to puzzle it outboth ways, and see which makes sense. One will and the other won't."
It all seemed as simple as rolling off a log, now that Doris haddiscovered the explanation. Even Miss Camilla was impressed with thevalue of the discovery.
"But what is the meaning of these plus and minus signs?" she queried. "Isuppose they stand for something."
"I think that's easy," answered Doris. "In looking over it, I see thereare a great many more plus than minus signs. Now, I think the plus signsmust be intended to divide the numbers in groups of two, so that eachgroup stands for a letter. Otherwise they'd be all hopelessly mixed up.And the minus signs divide the words. And every once in a while, if younotice, there's a multiplication sign. I imagine those as the periods atthe end of sentences."
They all sat silent a moment after this, marveling at the simplicity ofit. But at length Doris suggested:
"Suppose we try to puzzle out a little of it and see if we are really onthe right track? Have you a piece of paper and a pencil, Miss Camilla?"Miss Camilla went indoors and brought them out, quivering with theexcitement of the new discovery.
"Now, let's see," began Doris. "Suppose we try reading the top linefirst. '56' would be '1' and '14' would be '2.' Now '12' may mean a wordor it may not. It hardly seems as if a note would begin with that. Let'stry it the other way. Side line first. Then '56' is 'm,' and '14' is'y.' '_My_' is a word, anyway, so perhaps we're on the right track.Let's go on."
From the next series of letters she spelled the word "beloved" and afterthat "sister." It was plain beyond all doubting that at last they hadstumbled on a wonderful discovery.
But she got no further than the words, "my beloved sister," for, nosooner had Miss Camilla taken in their meaning than she huddled back inher chair and, very quietly, fainted away.