CHAPTER XIII
VIA WIRELESS
It was a week after the events of the last chapter. The girls had goneregularly every day to visit Cecily. It was Marcia who had finallymustered up courage to ask Miss Benedict if Cecily could not go into thegarden and enjoy there some outdoor air and sunshine. Miss Benedict hadhesitated at first, but at last she conceded that Cecily and the girlsmight sit in the garden if they would go out of the house by a smallside door and remain on that side of the house.
They found that this door was on the opposite side of the house fromCecily's room: consequently, they had never seen it. And they soondiscovered one reason, at least, why Miss Benedict wished them to remainexclusively on that side. It was screened both back and front by thickbushes and trees. And at the side, above the garden wall, rose the highblank side of a building, unrelieved by a single window. Here they wereas absolutely screened from public view as if they were within thehouse. Here also was an old rustic bench and table, and they spentseveral happy mornings in the secluded spot, sewing, reading, andchatting.
Cecily seemed fairly to open out before their eyes, like a flower-budexpanding in warm, sunny atmosphere. Only at times now did she show anytrace of the frightened repression of their earlier acquaintance. Theyseldom talked abut the mystery surrounding her, because they haddiscovered that any allusion to it only made her uneasy, unhappy, andrather silent. Moreover, further discussion of it was rather useless, asthey seemed to have reached a point in its solution beyond whichprogress was hopeless.
So they talked gaily about themselves and their own affairs, sometimesof their former home in Northam, the pleasant New England village.Occasionally Cecily would reciprocate by allowing them glimpses of herlife in the obscure little English town from which she had come. Onlyrarely did she allude to the circumstances of her present home, andthough the girls secretly ached to know more about it, they were tootactful to ask any questions.
One query, whose answer they could not guess was this: who was the othermysterious old lady, kept so closely a prisoner in her room by MissBenedict? And why was she so kept? Marcia and Janet were never tired ofdiscussing this question between themselves. That it was a relative,they could not doubt. And they recalled one or two remarks Miss Benedicthad dropped, particularly when she had said: "We--that is--I have somemeans."
The "we" must certainly have referred to herself and the other one. Butcould that "other one" be mother, sister, aunt, or cousin? And why wasthere so much secrecy about her? Cecily had only said that Miss Benedictreferred to her as "the lady in there who is not very well." But whyconceal so carefully just an ordinary invalid?
"You never can tell, though," remarked Janet, decisively, one night whenthey had been discussing the matter with Aunt Minerva. "Were you evermore stunned, Marcia, than at the reason she gave for having all theshutters closed? I think it was the most pitiful thing I ever heard, Icould just have sat and _cried_ about it. And it was so different fromall the awful things we'd imagined. Perhaps there is just as good areason for this other mystery."
"But what puzzles me," broke in Aunt Minerva, impatiently, "is why thatwoman, if she's so wealthy, doesn't go to a good oculist and have sometreatment for her eyes. They can do such wonders nowadays. Why on earthdoes she endure it? I never heard of anything so silly!"
"I suppose it's for the same reason that she wouldn't have a doctor whenshe hurt her ankle," said Marcia. "She evidently doesn't want a strangerin the house, even for such important things as those."
One day Cecily asked Marcia why she never brought in her violin sincethe occasion of the first visit, and requested that she bring it withher next day and give them a concert.
So on the following day Marcia came armed with her violin case and alsoan interesting new book from the library that she thought Cecily wouldenjoy.
"Let's read the book first," Cecily elected. So, sitting in the secludedcorner of the garden, the three spent a happy morning, reading aloud,turn about, while the others worked at their embroidery. At last, whenall were tired, Cecily begged Marcia to play, and she laid her bookaside and took up the violin.
"What shall I play?" she asked. "Something lively?"
"No," said Cecily. "Play something soft and sweet and dreamy. I feeljust in that mood to-day. It's too hot for lively things."
Marcia played the Liszt "Liebestraum," and a lovely setting of the oldScotch song "Loch Lomond," and after that the "Melody in F." And then,at Cecily's entreating glance, she drifted, as usual, into the"Traeumerei."
"Do you know," said Cecily, when she had ended, "I believe I must haveheard that thing when I was a baby. It's the only reason I can think ofthat it seems so--so familiar. And yet--unless I'd heard it a great,great many times then, I don't think it would have made such animpression on me. And where could I have heard it? Play it again,Marcia, please."
Marcia obligingly began, but she had gone no farther than the first fewmeasures when the door opened and Miss Benedict appeared. She seemedvery much agitated, and her bonnet and veil, donned in an evident hurry,were slightly awry.
"I beg you," she began, turning to Marcia, "not to play any more.I--er--it is--is not because it is not beautiful, but it is--is slightlydisturbing to--some one inside."
"Why, of course I won't, Miss Benedict," said Marcia, dropping her bow."I wouldn't have done such a thing if I'd dreamed it would disturb anyone."
"It isn't--it isn't that _I_ don't love it," stammered Miss Benedict,"for I do. But it seems to be very upsetting to--" She hesitated, justa fraction of a moment, and then seemed to take a sudden resolution.
"--to my sister!" she ended flutteringly, as though the simple admissioncarried something damaging with it. It required strong self-control forthe three girls not to exchange glances.
"Oh, I hope I haven't done her any harm!" cried Marcia, contritely.
"No--she--it has just made her a little nervous. She will be all rightsoon, I trust. But I noticed that it had the same effect--before," wenton Miss Benedict. "I fear I shall have to ask you not--not to play againin her hearing. And I am very sorry, both for Cecily--and myself." Andshe retreated into the house again, closing the door softly.
On the way back to luncheon that noon the girls excitedly discussed thenewest turn of affairs and the newest revelation made by their strangeneighbor. And so absorbed were they in this fresh interest and soanxious to impart it to Aunt Minerva that they scarcely noticed she waslaboring under a suppressed excitement quite as great as their own.Indeed, she paid but scant attention to their recital; and when they hadfinished, her only comment was:
"Very odd--very odd indeed. But you never can guess about the news _I_have!"
"No, no! Of course I can't guess. Tell us--quick!" cried Marcia,impatiently. "It's something wonderful, I know!"
Miss Minerva made no reply, but suddenly laid a wireless telegram beforethem. Marcia snatched it up and read aloud:
"_Change of sailing-plans. Will be home in two days._
"EDWIN BRETT."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" she cried. "Father's coming! A whole two months beforewe expected him! _Now_ we'll hear something about the bracelet--and whoknows what will happen after that!"