"Words on two bracelets are Identical," replied Lee Ching, precisely
Lee Ching took the trinkets and examined them minutely. Presently he asked:
"Will ladies have what say by word of mouth?" The captain was about to answer yes, and then changed his mind:
"No. It may be rather important, and we want to remember it accurately. We would be obliged if you would write it out."
Lee Ching nodded gravely. "Will captain permit I retire to cabin?" he requested, and on being dismissed, he retreated with a formal bow.
"Butcanhe write English?" cried Marcia, when he had disappeared.
"Of course he can, better than he can speak it!" laughed the captain. "English is child'splay compared to that brain-paralyzing language of his! I must say, though, that Lee Ching is rather unusual—as Chinese sailors go. He's studied in the University of Pekin, reads and writes English well, and never speaks Pidgin-English. Why he's spending his life as boatswain of a trading-steamer I don't know. He's fitted for far different things. But I have an idea it's on account of his health that he follows the sea."
The time before Lee Ching's reappearance seemed to the girls interminable, though, in all probability, it was not more than fifteen minutes.
At last, however, he returned, laid the bracelets and a slip of paper in the captain's hand, and was about to retire.
"One moment!" said Captain Brett. "Is the writing on the two bracelets the same?"
"Words on two bracelets are identical," replied Lee Ching, precisely.
"That is all, then, and thank you!" And the captain dismissed him.
"Oh,readit," cried Marcia, "or I shall dieof impatience!" and she hung over his shoulder while he read aloud Lee Ching's queer, angular handwriting.
When he had finished, a blank look crept over the expectant faces of the two girls.
"Isthatall?" cried Janet. And Marcia exclaimed, "Why, how disappointing! It doesn't tell us a single thing!"
"Wait a minute," said the captain, tugging thoughtfully at his short mustache, while he studied the paper, "I'm not so sure of that!"
"To begin with," Captain Brett went on after a long and (to Janet and Marcia) very trying pause, "we've something to hold on to in just the date—Sept 25, 1889—and Amoy."
"What's Amoy, anyway?" demanded Marcia.
"It's a large seaport in the province of Fu-kien, China, and I've stopped there many a time myself. Then there's the date of this wedding. Somebody might possibly remember it. There's just the faintest chance."
"But there aren't any names given," argued Marcia. "And besides, there must be hundreds of Chinese weddings going on all the time. I don't believe you could find any one who could remember just this particular one!"
"There are one or two things about this you don't understand, Marcia. First place, I'm almost certain this isn't any Chinese wedding referred to here. The Chinese don't do things that way. I know a little about their customs. It's English or American. You can bank onthat!
"Another thing—about the names. I'm pretty sure that this contains both names—at least the ones the parties went by in China. You see, the Chinese have no equivalents in their language for such names as Jones or Robinson or Brett, for instance. What they do is to take some characteristic of a person, and give him a name signifying that characteristic. I strongly suspect that whatever words in Chinese stand for 'maker of melodies' and 'flower-maiden' are the names the man and woman were known by there."
"Then," interrupted Janet, who had been doing some rapid thinking, "the man must have been some kind of a musician, and the woman may have loved flowers, or looked like a flower, or something of that sort."
"I think it extremely likely," agreed the captain.
"Maker of melodies—musician!" cried Marcia, suddenly hopping up from her deck-chair in excitement. "Does that make you think of anything?"
The captain and Janet both looked rather mystified and shook their heads.
"Why,Cecily, of course!" exclaimed Marcia. "Don't you remember how she adores music—and always seems to be remembering something about that 'Träumerei'? I'll warrant—just anything—that these people who got married were some relation to her! And besides, didn't she have one of the bracelets?"
"It looks as if youhadrun down a clue," admitted Captain Brett. "But I'm sorry to say it doesn't help us much in discovering who these contracting parties were. One point, however, I think it seems to settle—the question whether the bracelet came into the possession of your little friend in some such manner as I got the other, or whether it was hers by right as a family trinket. I believe the latter—almostbeyond question. But now comes the difficulty. How are we going to unearth anybody who has any remembrance of—"
Marcia suddenly inspired with an idea, interrupted: "Why not ask Lee Ching? He's Chinese. Who knows but what he came from just that region?"
"Nothing like trying," said the captain. "I don't know what province he hails from, but it won't hurt to ask." And he sent a sailor to summon Lee Ching once more. When he appeared the captain put his first question:
"Lee Ching, what province did you come from?"
"Fu-kien," came the answer, promptly, and the girls' hopes were raised sky-high.
"Did you ever live in Amoy?"
"No, never lived there—always in hills back beyond."
"Well, do you, by any chance, happen to know anything about the parties spoken of in that bracelet translation?"
"No. Was at sea at date mentioned. Young man then—not very well on dry land.Must live on ship always—or not live. Never was acquainted with parties mentioned."
"Thank you. That is all, Lee Ching."
The bright hopes of the girls were considerably dampened, but Marcia was not to be downed.
"Anyway," she argued, "you've other Chinese sailors on board. Why couldn't we question them all? We might findsomeone who knows."
The captain was rather dubious about it. "Yes, the cook and four sailors are Chinese. You can question them if you like, but I'm afraid it won't be much satisfaction. They're an appallingly ignorant lot! But I'll have them summoned."
In a few moments the five were lined up, and, true to the captain's estimate, a hopeless-looking lot they were. After much confused questioning in Pidgin-English it developed that the cook and two sailors were from the province of Shansi, a third from Kiang-su, and the two others from nowhere in particular thatthey could seem to remember. None of them knew anything about Amoy beyond the squalid shops about the wharves.
The captain dismissed them all with a disgusted wave of his hand and turned to the girls.
"You see how worse than useless it is to try and find out anything from such sources! I knew it would be so, but I didn't want to discourage you. Now you just leave me to myself for half an hour to smoke in peace and do a little thinking. Go and look at them unloading, or roam around and amuse yourselves in any way you like. Perhaps, if I rack my brains hard, something will occur to me."
They left him pacing up and down on the deck, puffing at his cigar, while they went to explore the great ship all over again. But the occupation, though fascinating, failed to keep their thoughts from the latest phase of the queer mystery that surrounded Cecily Marlowe.
"Do you know," said Marcia, as they stoodlooking down into the well of the vast engine-room, "it seems simply impossible to me to connect lovely, dainty, English Cecily with anything so oriental as China. I can't understand it. I can't imagine any connection. Can you?"
"No, I can't," admitted Janet. "And, more than that, where does Miss Benedict come in on this Chinese proposition? Nothing could be less connected with it than she! I believe she'd have a fit if she ever saw that awful-looking crowd of Chinese sailors your father had there a while ago. Did you ever see such a rascally looking lot? And poor little Cecily would be horrified!"
"I liked Lee Ching, though. He's so grave and serious and dignified. And isn't his English fascinating? I just love to hear him talk. But oh, I wish Father hadn't sent us away for half an hour! I can hardly wait for the time to pass! Let's go and look at those men on the dock unloading. Why do they make such a racket? You'd think there was a fire or something!"
So they whiled away the time, and at last, promptly on the minute, raced back to Captain Brett.
"Well?" demanded Marcia, breathless. "What now?"
"Just had a happy thought!" The captain threw the stump of his finished cigar over the rail. "I've been trying to think whom I could remember meeting in China during the past years—some responsible person who might know these people or be able to track them down. Suddenly recalled old Major Goodrich. He was an English military attaché stationed at Hong-Kong for a while, and I got to know him rather well. He was retired some years ago, and the last I heard of him he was living in this country, somewhere in Pennsylvania, with his only daughter, who happened to have married an American. If anybody were likely to know anything about this business it would be he, for he knew everybody and everything worth knowing about in Amoy at the time. I'll look up his address and write to him to-night. Now I hope that satisfies you both!"
"Father, you're a trump!" cried Marcia, blissfully. "Iknewyou'd get right to the bottom of this mystery at once."
"Hold on! Don't count your chickens before they're hatched!" warned the captain. "This is only a possibility—not aprobability. The major may know nothing whatever about it. But look here! it's high time we were heading for home. We don't want to be late to dinner."
They reached the apartment, bursting with news to tell Aunt Minerva, but were met at the door by that lady, flushed, flustered, and very much excited.
"Such a state of affairs!" she cried. "An hour ago I received a telegram from Cousin Drusilla in Northam saying she was very ill indeed and wouldn't I come up at once, as she was virtually all alone. Of course I've got to go. I can't leave her there sick without a soul to look after her. But what on earth are you all going to do?"
"Oh, go right along, Minerva! The girls and I will get on famously. They can trytheir hand at housekeeping, and you've a good maid in the kitchen to help. Don't you worry a minute!"
"Yes, but—" began Aunt Minerva.
"You've got just fifteen minutes to catch the Boston express," said the captain, decisively, looking at his watch. "Give me that suitcase and come right along."
Aunt Minerva, who had really been all packed and ready for the past twenty-nine minutes, meekly obeyed.
"I won't be gone more than a few days," she remarked, as she kissed the girls good-by. "I'll get some one to take my place with Drusilla just as soon as I can. Don't let Eliza boil the corn too long, and tell her—" The sentence was never finished, for the captain at that point gently but firmly led her into the hall and closed the door.
And, though the girls suspected it not, this sudden departure of Aunt Minerva had more bearing on the mystery they were trying to solve than any of them dreamed!
Meantime, Cecily Marlowe, immured in the lonely house, had been having an experience all her own. And when the girls came to see her, the day after the visit to the ship, she too was bursting with news. But she quietly waited till they had told their own tale, and was as puzzled as they about the strange translation of the characters on the bracelet. Of anything pertaining to China or the Chinese she had not the remotest notion, and could not understand how it could have any connection with her affairs.
"Now you must hearmystory," she began, when they had discussed the newest development till there was nothing left to discuss. "It's about Miss Benedict. She has—but just wait, and I'll begin at the beginning. It was two nights ago, and she had one of thoseheadaches. She has such very bad ones, you know. She says they are from her poor eye-sight, and she suffers terribly.
"Well, she had a worse one than usual, and so she was obliged to call me into her room and ask me to fetch things for her. I sat by her and bathed her head and fanned her, and at last she fell asleep. Even then I didn't go away, but sat there fanning and fanning her for a long time, till finally, after a couple of hours, she woke up.
"She was very much better then, and presently she began to talk to me quite differently from what she ever had before. First she asked me if I were contented and happy here. I said I tried to be, but I was very lonely sometimes. She didn't say much to that, but suddenly she spoke again:
"Child, I suppose you wonder very much at this queer life I lead!"
"'Child, I suppose you wonder very much at this queer life I lead, don't you?' I said, yes, I couldn't help wondering about it. Then she turned away her head and whispered:
"'Oh, if you onlyknew, you would not wonder! I have been very unhappy. My life hasbeen very unhappy!' All I could think of to answer her was that I was so sorry, and she need not tell me anything she didn't wish to. I would never ask about it. And she raised herself up in bed, and said:
"'That's just it, dear child. I have always supposed that young folks were one and all curious, inquisitive, and thoughtless. That is one reason I was so—so strict with you—in the beginning. But you and those two nice girls next door have been a revelation to me.'
"Wasn't that lovely of her?" exclaimed Cecily, interrupting herself.
"Just darling!" cried Marcia. "But do go on, Cecily. We're crazy to hear what came next!"
"Well, next she said: 'People think I live a very singular life, I know. They think I'm eccentric—queer—crazy, even! Oh,Iknow it! But there are few alive to-day—and none in this neighborhood—who even guess at the real reason, who—remember!' And then she put her hand to her head as if it was aching badly, and dropped back on the pillow. Shewas very quiet for a while, but at last she looked up again and said: 'Little Cecily, would you care to have a home with me always? Would you be willing to put up with my queerness and peculiarities, and some of the strange conditions here?' And I answered, indeed, yes; if I could go out once in a while and visit you girls occasionally, I should very much like to stay. And she said:
"'Of course you shall, dear. You have been dreadfully shut in here, but that was before I knew you so well. I was not sure Iwantedto keep you before, but now I know that I do. I only ask you to be as considerate of me as you can. Some day, I feel certain, I shall lose my sight. I know that it is coming. When it does come, I shall have to depend very, very much on you. I and one other. You will not fail me then, will you, Cecily?'
"Girls, I could have cried then and there—I felt sosorryfor her. And I told her she couldalwaysdepend on me, no matter what happened. I had no other home and no one else to care for me except you girls. Andafter that she told me the story about herself—at least, some of it. I can't tell it in her words, so I'll use my own. But this is it:
"A great many years ago, when this house was new, she lived here with her father and an older sister and a younger brother. They were all very happy together, and the brother was the pride and joy and hope of the whole family. But one time he had a violent disagreement with his father (she didn't tell me what it was about), and she and her sister took sides with her father against the brother. After that they had the same disagreement a great many times, and at last one so bad that the young man declared he wouldn't endure it any longer, and threatened to leave home.
"They didn't believe he was really serious about it, but the next morning his room was vacant, and a note pinned to his pillow said he had gone away never to return. They felt awfully about it, of course, but that wasn't the worst. About two weeks later they received word that he had taken passage on a steamer for Europe, and after only a day or so out hewas discovered to be missing, so he must have fallen overboard, or been washed over and drowned. Wasn't that frightful?"
Janet and Marcia looked horrified. "What did she do then?" they whispered.
"That's the most dreadful part," went on Cecily. "The shock was so great that the father died a week afterward—the doctors said virtually of a broken heart. So there were two gone, and within a month. The two that were left, Miss Benedict and her sister, shut themselves up and went into mourning and saw almost no one. For a while they were paralyzed with grief. And then, little by little, very gradually, they began to realize that people were talking about them—saying dreadful things. One of the few friends theydidsee let drop little hints of the gossip that was going on outside. People were saying that they were to blame for it all, and that they probably weren't so sorry as they pretended to be, for now they could enjoy all the money themselves. Can you imagine anything so horrid?"
"Oh, but that's nonsense!" interrupted Janet impatiently. "How could any one say it was their fault?"
"Well, you know how people talk," replied Cecily. "They meant that by nagging and quarreling they had driven the brother away on purpose, and then made it so unpleasant for the father that he couldn't stand it any longer either. It wasn't said in so many words, but just little hints and allusions and shrugging shoulders and all that sort of thing. But the meaning was there underneath it all, as plain as anything.
"Their grief and the horrid talk about them made them feel so very badly that they determined to live in such a way that no one could accuse them of enjoying an ill-gotten fortune. So they shut up the house,—at least a large part of it,—and dismissed all their servants, and did most of the work themselves. After a while the few friends they had began to drop away, one by one, till no one came to see them any more.
"And then one day, two or three years later, the older sister had a paralytic stroke and lost her memory. She's been shut up in that room ever since, and Miss Benedict takes care of her. She can sit up in a chair and knit, and she likes to have a chess-board on her lap, and move the pieces around, because she once loved to play the game with her younger brother. But she can't remember anything—not even who she is herself, and nothing about what has happened. Miss Benedict feels terribly about her, especially about her not remembering anything, and she says that is why she didn't tell me about her at first. It seemed so terrible.
"She says all the friends and relatives they had are dead and gone now, so no one knows the real reason for their queer life. And as the years have passed she has grown more and more into the habit of living this way till it seemed quite natural to her—at least it did till I came; and now she is beginning to realize again that itisqueer. And she was so afraid of gossip and talk that when you firstwanted to be friends with me she would not allow it, for fear of starting more unpleasant inquiries into her life."
"But what about her poor eyes?" asked Janet.
"Oh, yes! About ten years ago she began to have those terrible pains in her eyes, and then she had to darken all the house and wear the veil and dark glasses outdoors. She went to a doctor about them, but was told that the case was hopeless unless she had some complicated operation and spent months in a dark room. This she felt she couldn't do on account of her sister, whom shewouldnot leave to a stranger's care. So she has just suffered ever since.
"That's all, girls, except that she told me her sister's name is Cornelia and that hers is Alixe. I'm to call her Miss Alixe after this. It makes me seem a little nearer to her."
"What a pretty name—Alixe!" commented Marcia. "It just seems to suit her, somehow. But isn't that the saddest story? It just goes to show how unhappy we can makepeople by talking about them and their affairs."
"And oh! there's one thing more. Miss Benedict—I mean Miss Alixe—gave me permission to tell you all this, but she only asks that you will not repeat it except to your father and aunt. She says she knows you can be depended on to do this."
That day, before Janet and Marcia left, they encountered Miss Benedict in the hall. And, by the way she pressed their hands in saying good-by they felt that she knew Cecily had told them her story, though she made no reference to it.
"Cecily may run in and visit you a while to-morrow. I think the change will do her good," she remarked at parting. And that was the only hint she gave of a change in the affairs of "Benedict's Folly."
When Janet and Marcia were at last outside the gate they gazed up at the forbidding brick wall and drew a long breath of wonder.
"Sothatis the story!" breathed Marcia. "What an awful thing—that two people's lives should be spoiled just by unkind gossip!"
But Janet was thinking of something else. "I wonder why Miss Benedict didn't tell what the family had the disagreement about!" she queried.
During the week following Aunt Minerva's departure, the two girls had a busy life, taking charge of the unaccustomed tasks of housekeeping.
But with all their absorbing occupations, the three were waiting on tiptoe of expectation for a reply from Major Goodrich. And even Captain Brett could scarcely conceal his impatience as the days went by and no answer came.
At last one morning the mail-box contained a letter postmarked from Pennsylvania, and Marcia carried it upstairs two steps at a time.
It was from the major. He wrote:
Is there any way you can think of to furnish me with an idea of what the Chinese for that expression, "maker of melodies,"soundslike? The only way that occurs to me is to see whether, by any faint chance, Lee Ching could write it in that RomanizedColloquial, used by the missionaries. That might give me an idea. It's a hundred chances to one, he doesn't know it. If so, just spell it out for me yourself in English—the nearest you can get to it.The reason I want to know it is this: there was a young fellow in Hong-Kong at the British military station, a military aide of promise, who had a magnificent singing voice. Every one went wild over him there. He was the life of the garrison and in social circles as well. Many an evening we spent listening to one of his impromptu recitals. But what makes me suspect that he may be the one we're after is that he foolishly went and married the daughter of a Chinese mandarin from one of the Hong-Kong yamêns. He had been the means of rendering the father some very important service, and met the daughter quite by accident. The whole affair was a rather remarkable story, but I haven't time to detail it all to you now.I saw the girl just once—afterward. She was a fascinating little creature, with the golden butterfly pins in her black hair, and her rich silk robe hung with jewels, and her tiny bound feet. But the young fellow's family back in England was furious about it. Eventually, he cut loose from them entirely. Then he and his wife drifted away from the Hong-Kong region up to Amoy, and finally dropped out of sight. I imagine he adopted the Chinese customs and habits and got to live at last very much like a native. I've never heard of him since, butI've a notion he could be hunted up if he's still alive. His name was Carringford—Jack Carringford, we used to call him.The point, however, is that the Chinese called him by a name of their own, signifying "eminent singer," or something of that sort—very much the same kind of expression as that used on the bracelet. And after a while we all got to calling him by it—or some abbreviation of it—pretty regularly. I can't recall just what it was now, for I haven't thought of it in years. But I believe I'd recognize it if I saw it written out in Colloquial or any other English version! Get me that, and I'll soon put you on the right track!Mightn't the little girl possibly be the daughter of Carringford?
Is there any way you can think of to furnish me with an idea of what the Chinese for that expression, "maker of melodies,"soundslike? The only way that occurs to me is to see whether, by any faint chance, Lee Ching could write it in that RomanizedColloquial, used by the missionaries. That might give me an idea. It's a hundred chances to one, he doesn't know it. If so, just spell it out for me yourself in English—the nearest you can get to it.
The reason I want to know it is this: there was a young fellow in Hong-Kong at the British military station, a military aide of promise, who had a magnificent singing voice. Every one went wild over him there. He was the life of the garrison and in social circles as well. Many an evening we spent listening to one of his impromptu recitals. But what makes me suspect that he may be the one we're after is that he foolishly went and married the daughter of a Chinese mandarin from one of the Hong-Kong yamêns. He had been the means of rendering the father some very important service, and met the daughter quite by accident. The whole affair was a rather remarkable story, but I haven't time to detail it all to you now.
I saw the girl just once—afterward. She was a fascinating little creature, with the golden butterfly pins in her black hair, and her rich silk robe hung with jewels, and her tiny bound feet. But the young fellow's family back in England was furious about it. Eventually, he cut loose from them entirely. Then he and his wife drifted away from the Hong-Kong region up to Amoy, and finally dropped out of sight. I imagine he adopted the Chinese customs and habits and got to live at last very much like a native. I've never heard of him since, butI've a notion he could be hunted up if he's still alive. His name was Carringford—Jack Carringford, we used to call him.
The point, however, is that the Chinese called him by a name of their own, signifying "eminent singer," or something of that sort—very much the same kind of expression as that used on the bracelet. And after a while we all got to calling him by it—or some abbreviation of it—pretty regularly. I can't recall just what it was now, for I haven't thought of it in years. But I believe I'd recognize it if I saw it written out in Colloquial or any other English version! Get me that, and I'll soon put you on the right track!
Mightn't the little girl possibly be the daughter of Carringford?
"No, shemightn't!" interrupted Marcia, indignantly, at this point. "Does Cecily Marlowe look like a Chinese mandarin's daughter's daughter?" And certainly, with her golden curls and big blue eyes and the English roses in her cheeks, they had to admit that she did not!
"And besides that," added Janet, "her name isn'tCarringford!"
"That doesn't always signify," remarked the captain. "It looks to me like a ratherclear case if we find that the Chinese name agrees with the major's recollection of it. I'd go down to the ship to-day, but Lee Ching is on shore leave, and won't be back till to-morrow. I'll see him then, and find out whether he knows anything about this Romanized Colloquial. I rather doubt it myself. It's not much used outside of the missions, I understand."
"Whatis'Romanized Colloquial,' anyway?" demanded Marcia. "It sounds very mysterious!"
"No, it isn't a bit mysterious," answered Captain Brett. "In order to understand about it, however, you must know this fact about the Chinese language. Thewrittencharacter is the same—meansthe same—all over the kingdom. But it isn'tpronouncedthe same in any of the different provinces. In fact, the spoken dialects are like entirely different languages. It seems that the dialect of the Fu-kien province has been reduced to a written form by the missionaries and called Romanized Colloquial. It has been in use fora good many years, but it isn't especially recognized by official or diplomatic circles. But a good many of the Chinese boys who attend the mission-schools learn it there. It's just possible that Lee Ching may have done so, as he came from that region. We can only wait and see. If he doesn't know it, hemaybe able to write out the Chinese equivalent in some form of English script."
The next day the captain went down to theEmpress of Oranand returned with a beaming face and a sheet of paper written on by Lee Ching.
"He knew it all right!" he announced. "Learned it as a boy in the mission-school atChiang-chiu. Here's what he wrote." And he held the sheet of paper for the girls to see. "He's put the Chinese characters at one side. They have to be read from top to bottom, you know. Next to them is the Romanized Colloquial, and alongside of that the English translation. Quite a pretty piece of work that!"
"Gracious!" cried Marcia, frowning over the queer jargon. "I can't make a thing out of it—or at least I couldn't if he hadn't put the English right alongside of the others. Oh, this must be the name!—'chok-gàk ê lâng'-'maker of melodies.' Did youeverhear of such heathenish sounds? Well, now we'll see what Major Goodrich has to say to that. Father, will you send it right off to him?"
"At once!" announced the captain. "I'm just about as anxious as you folks, now, to get this mystery explained."
But the singular thing was that somehow the girls could not bring themselves to tell Cecily much about these latest developments. They thought it would make her feel strange and anxious to realize that there was a possibility of her being in any way related to a Chinese mandarin's daughter.
"And besides," remarked Janet, suddenly, when they were discussing it, "that's perfectly impossible, anyway, because her mother was English, and Cecily has lived with her all these years. So this talk about mandarin'sdaughters and things is perfectly ridiculous!"
"That's so!" echoed Marcia, in relief. "I didn't think of it at first. But, anyway, let's not tell Cecily about it till we know more. I do wish Aunt Minerva were here! I haven't written her about all this because there's so much to explain. I'd rather wait and tell her when she gets back. She said she was only going to be gone a little while, and here it's nearly two weeks!"
In three days an answer arrived from the major, and, as luck would have it, Cecily herself brought the letter upstairs with her as she came in.
"The postman was just going to drop it in your box," she explained, "and I asked him to let me take it to you, and save you the trouble of coming down for it." And she held it out to the captain.
"Aha!" he cried, as he caught sight of the writing. "Nowwe'll hear some news! Why—what's the matter?" He had just glimpsed Marcia and Janet frantically signaling to himbehind Cecily's back. "Don't you want me to open it?"
"Oh, not now," explained Marcia, as nonchalantly as she could. "I want Cecily to come out to the kitchen and help us make some fudge. Later will do." And she dragged the wondering Cecily down the hall, while the captain stared after them muttering, "Well! of all the—"
Cecily stayed rather late that afternoon. And for the first time in all their acquaintance, the girls were not sorry to have her go, so wild with anxiety were they to hear the major's letter. No sooner had the door closed upon her than they rushed back to the captain.
"What does he say?" they clamored.
The captain, who was puffing at his pipe, appeared serious. "I don't like the looks of this thing at all," he muttered, reaching in his pocket for the letter.
"But what did he say? Tell us quick!" cried Marcia. "We've been nearly crazy there in the kitchen waiting to have Cecily go so we could hear what he says!"
"Well, I'm glad she did go first," acknowledged the captain, "for somehow I wouldn't care to have her hear just yet what the major has to say. He thinks— But I'll read his letter, and you can understand what I mean. Here it is:
"About the Chinese name first. The one you sent does certainly have a familiar sound to me, especially the last two syllables. I distinctly remember that the name Jack Carringford was called by endedine lang, or something that sounded amazingly like it. I wouldn't bank on that entirely, however, for the Chinese language is the most confusing and idiotic jargon ever invented by the mind of man, and there might be a dozen other words ending the same and meaning something entirely different."Here's a fact more to the point, though. Since writing to you last I've been busy communicating with several old chums of the China days. What I've been trying to find out is, does any one know what has become of Carringford? By the third year after his unfortunate marriage he had pretty well dropped out of sight. Still, I thought I knew of one or two who might have kept some track of him even after that. One of them, Danforth Pettingill, an old chum of Jack's, is now living in New York, and I thought he'd probably know as much as any one. So I wrote him at the very start, and yesterday received this answer. It seems that Carringford and his wife lived with her father for some time—till about two years after their marriage, when a little daughter was born. Then the old mandarin, who was fearfully annoyed because the baby was not a boy (girls being of no earthly account in China, as you know!), made it so unpleasant for the couple that they finally left his establishment. It was then that they began their roaming existence, terribly hampered by the baby, of course, and never remaining long in any city."At last, the wife contracted the plague and diedvery suddenly, and Carringford was left alone with the baby on his hands. It was at this time that he dropped completely out of sight, and Pettingill never heard from him again. He thinks, however, from very substantial rumor, that Carringford went back to England, taking the child with him. He didn't go to his own folks, though, that's certain; for Pettingill has heard from them occasionally, and they never mention him. There was another rumor afloat about him for a time, that he had taken to earning his living by singing at cheap concerts under an assumed name. All of which might be entirely likely. But what became of the child, Pettingill never knew—nor any one else, I'm afraid. Well, that's all I've ascertained up to date, but I'm still on the track, and if I hear any further news, I'll let you know at once."
"About the Chinese name first. The one you sent does certainly have a familiar sound to me, especially the last two syllables. I distinctly remember that the name Jack Carringford was called by endedine lang, or something that sounded amazingly like it. I wouldn't bank on that entirely, however, for the Chinese language is the most confusing and idiotic jargon ever invented by the mind of man, and there might be a dozen other words ending the same and meaning something entirely different.
"Here's a fact more to the point, though. Since writing to you last I've been busy communicating with several old chums of the China days. What I've been trying to find out is, does any one know what has become of Carringford? By the third year after his unfortunate marriage he had pretty well dropped out of sight. Still, I thought I knew of one or two who might have kept some track of him even after that. One of them, Danforth Pettingill, an old chum of Jack's, is now living in New York, and I thought he'd probably know as much as any one. So I wrote him at the very start, and yesterday received this answer. It seems that Carringford and his wife lived with her father for some time—till about two years after their marriage, when a little daughter was born. Then the old mandarin, who was fearfully annoyed because the baby was not a boy (girls being of no earthly account in China, as you know!), made it so unpleasant for the couple that they finally left his establishment. It was then that they began their roaming existence, terribly hampered by the baby, of course, and never remaining long in any city.
"At last, the wife contracted the plague and diedvery suddenly, and Carringford was left alone with the baby on his hands. It was at this time that he dropped completely out of sight, and Pettingill never heard from him again. He thinks, however, from very substantial rumor, that Carringford went back to England, taking the child with him. He didn't go to his own folks, though, that's certain; for Pettingill has heard from them occasionally, and they never mention him. There was another rumor afloat about him for a time, that he had taken to earning his living by singing at cheap concerts under an assumed name. All of which might be entirely likely. But what became of the child, Pettingill never knew—nor any one else, I'm afraid. Well, that's all I've ascertained up to date, but I'm still on the track, and if I hear any further news, I'll let you know at once."
When the captain stopped reading, all of them looked very serious, and no one said a word for several minutes.
"You see," he began at last, "why I don't like the looks of the thing. This seems to cover almost all the points we've been in doubt about, though of course, itdoesleave quite a little to conjecture. I somehow dislike to think of little Cecily as a mixture of Chinese and English. In fact, it's almost impossibleto think of her as such. And yet it seems remarkably near the truth."
"If that man assumed a name," interrupted Marcia, "I suppose it might as easily be Marlowe as anything else."
"Just as easily," admitted Captain Brett.
"And he went back to England—just where Cecily came here from," added Janet, lugubriously.
"But then why doesn't Cecily remember something about him?" cried Marcia, hopefully.
"He may have been dead a good while, or he may have sent her off somewhere else," answered the captain, dashing this hope. "He wouldn't be likely to drag a child about in any such life as he must have had to lead."
They all sank into a depressed silence again. Suddenly Marcia had another idea.
"But look here!" she exclaimed. "Major Goodrich says that man was at Hong Kong and the bracelet says 'Amoy,' as plain as plain can be. Isn't that enough proof that it can't be the same one?"
Again the captain had to dampen her hopes. "They might have gone to Amoy to be married," he said. "It's entirely possible. You can't tell anything about that."
"And besides," put in Janet, "you got the bracelet at Hong Kong, didn't you, Captain Brett? So if it really belonged to those people, it was still pretty near home."
"Well, it is useless to conjecture about these things," added the captain. "What bothers me most of all is the question of what earthly connection all this can have with Miss Benedict. There doesn't seem to be the least likelihood that the Carringfords were any relations of hers, and unless Cecily was simply sent there on a chance, because it was known that she was a wealthy woman and might be willing to provide for the child, I'm quite at a loss to explain it."
"I wonder if there is any way we could find out?" mused Marcia.
"I know a very good way," declared Janet. "Simply ask her."
"What? And explain all this strange businessabout Cecily's parents right away?" demanded Marcia.
"Oh, no! Just ask her if she ever had any connections in England named Carringford. She'll say either yes or no to that. And if she says yes, why then we'll know we are on the right track and can think what to do next."
"Janet's advice is pretty good," asserted Captain Brett. "And if I were you, I'd put the question to Miss Benedict the next time you see her. It's about the only way I can think of now to solve this riddle."
And so it was decided that the very next day, when the girls expected to go and visit Cecily, they should ask Miss Benedict the dread question.
Cecily met them at the gate the next afternoon. "Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she cried. "I'm really very lonely. Miss Benedict is going to be away all the afternoon because she has some business to attend to. She says we can sit in the garden."
At this piece of news the girls' faces fell.
"Why, what's the matter?" questioned Cecily. "Don't you care to? I thought you'd be rather pleased."
"Indeed, it will be fine!" declared Marcia, striving to hide her disappointment at the news that Miss Benedict would not be visible that day. She and Janet had counted so positively on having one at least, of their vexed questions settled immediately that it was difficult to feel they must wait two or three days more. For on the morrow Cecily was to visit them, as they now spent alternate days in each others' houses, and the day after, Captain Brett had promised to take the three of them on a trip up the Hudson.
All that afternoon, however, Marcia and Janet were noticeably inattentive and absent-minded. Once Marcia, who was reading aloud to the others, stopped short in the middle of a sentence, and remained for three whole minutes gazing off at nothing. And at this, Cecily could contain her wonder no longer.
"Girls, are you, by any chance—annoyed atme?" she ventured. Marcia suddenly dragged herself back to the affairs of the moment.
"Of course not, deary. How could you think such a thing?" she declared heartily.
"Then something else is the matter," insisted Cecily. "You are worrying about something. I never knew you to act so strangely. Now tell me, aren't you?"
Marcia glanced uneasily at Janet. "Well, yes, we are," she admitted reluctantly. "But please don't ask us anything about it just yet, Cecily. Something that has come up lately seems kind of queer and—and unpleasant. But it may turn out all right in the end, so we don't want to tell you till we know positively."
Cecily looked alarmed. "Is it—is it anything about me?" she faltered. "But perhaps I oughtn't to ask." Marcia looked terribly unhappy at this question, and Janet came to her rescue.
"Yes, it is, Cecily," she declared with assumed cheerfulness. "Captain Brett has stumbled across something that seems as if itmight have some connection with your affairs. But we don't want you to hear about it till we are positive. Now don't worry about it, because I'm perfectly certain everything is going to turn out all right. You won't worry, will you?" She put her arm around Cecily and laid her cheek against the golden hair.
"No, I'll try not to," Cecily assured them, "and I'll promise not to ask you another thing about it till you're ready to tell me yourselves." After that she settled down quietly, but it was apparent to the girls that, in spite of her assurances, she was worried and nervous and unhappy. Presently Janet had an inspiration.
"You two sit here. I'm going out for a few moments," she announced, determined to break the tension of unrest and nervousness by some diversion. Nor would she reveal to them what her errand was to be. She returned in twenty minutes, however, with a box of delicious French ice-cream and some dainty cakes. And for the next half-hour they had a gay time in the garden, serving and consumingthe welcome treat. In the end they had temporarily quite forgotten the unhappiness of the earlier hour, and when they returned home the two girls left Cecily laughing and cheerful.
Nor did she, all through the ensuing two days, refer in any way to their conversation in the garden. If the matter worried her, she gave no sign, and the girls could not help admiring her self-control.
Three days later, Marcia and Janet went again to spend the afternoon with Cecily, and found to their relief that Miss Benedict was at home. At least, they learned the fact from Cecily. The lady herself they did not see when they entered. And indeed, there was a chance, that they might not have so much as a glimpse of her during their visit, for it frequently happened that she was not visible during an entire afternoon.
Would she speak to them that day? That was the question. And, what was even more important, would they have a chance to speak to her unobserved by Cecily? For they didnot wish the girl to overhear what they had to ask, nor even to know that they were seeking an interview with her guardian.
For the major part of the afternoon it did not seem as if their wish would be granted. Miss Benedict did not appear, and so nervous and anxious were they that they could scarcely keep their thoughts on the conversation that Cecily was striving to keep up or, later, on the book they were reading. Cecily had declared that her room seemed very warm, so they were sitting once more in the garden. This also was a disappointment, for it lessened considerably their chances of seeing the lady of their hopes.
Half-past five came round, and still they had not attained their wish. Marcia had just risen, with a resigned sigh, to propose that they take their departure, when the side door opened and Miss Benedict appeared. At the sight of her the hearts of Marcia and Janet gave a delighted thump, and they greeted her with a pleasure, the warmth of which she could not entirely understand.
But now came the problem of getting Cecily out of the way for a time. It was evident that she had no intention of leaving them of her own accord. And it was Marcia's happy idea that solved this riddle.
"Cecily," she suddenly inquired, "do you happen to have finished that book I lent you last week?"
"Oh, yes! I finished it last night. I meant to return it to-day," said Cecily. "Wait a moment and I'll get it from my room. You must be anxious to finish it yourself, I know." And she hurried indoors, unconscious of the unutterable relief with which they watched her go. When she was out of sight, Marcia turned to Miss Benedict.
"Please pardon me for asking a personal question," she began hurriedly, "but it is only because we think it is something that concerns Cecily. Did you ever have, in England or anywhere, any relatives or—or even friends by the name of Carringford?" Miss Benedict was bonneted and veiled as usual, so they could not see her face. And they would have givenmuch to have been able to read her expression when she heard this question.
But she answered, very promptly and positively: "No, I never knew of any one at all by that name. Why do you ask?"
They could hear Cecily's footsteps returning down the stairs.
"Only because we have discovered something in connection with people of that name, that seems to concern Cecily," Marcia explained hastily. "Sometime we will tell you all about it. We thought perhaps you'd know them. Please—please don't tell Cecily we've spoken about it—just yet." Miss Benedict had only time to signify that she would follow their request, when Cecily appeared in the doorway and the interview was over.
As they walked home later they both admitted to a feeling of intense relief that Miss Benedict, at least, knew nothing about any Carringfords.
"Of course, her not knowing them doesn'tproveanything," declared Janet. "But one thing is certain. If shehadknown them, itwould have been positive that all this horrid story is connected with Cecily. But as she doesn't, it gives one more chance that it has nothing to do with her."
As they entered the hall of the apartment, the captain called out to them from the living-room:
"Hurry in, girls! There's another letter from the major waiting for you!"
The major's letter did nothing, however, to lighten the gloom. On the contrary, it only increased it tenfold. The main substance of it was in this paragraph:
It's singular how much you can dig out about a subject, once you put your mind to it. I thought at first that I had told you all that was known about Jack Carringford and his affairs—all that could be discovered. But the deeper I go into it, the more I seem to unearth. Yesterday another friend to whom I had written, on the off-chance of getting a little information (but from whom I really didn't expect much) sent me this bit of news. It seems he heard it said that after Carringford went back to England he married again, and it is thought that he did not live very long after,—died suddenly of pneumonia, or something like it, in an obscure town in the north of England. Perhaps this will help you some in your amateur detective work. If I glean any more information, I'll let you know at once. I rather enjoy this delving into the past.
It's singular how much you can dig out about a subject, once you put your mind to it. I thought at first that I had told you all that was known about Jack Carringford and his affairs—all that could be discovered. But the deeper I go into it, the more I seem to unearth. Yesterday another friend to whom I had written, on the off-chance of getting a little information (but from whom I really didn't expect much) sent me this bit of news. It seems he heard it said that after Carringford went back to England he married again, and it is thought that he did not live very long after,—died suddenly of pneumonia, or something like it, in an obscure town in the north of England. Perhaps this will help you some in your amateur detective work. If I glean any more information, I'll let you know at once. I rather enjoy this delving into the past.
"Oh, horrors!" exclaimed Marcia. "Could anything be plainer than this is getting to be? Of course, that explains it all! Cecily didn't remember her father, and her 'mother' was really her stepmother. I wonder if she knows it. She never mentioned it, but then she seldom speaks of her mother, anyway. Though I always thought, from the way she acted, that she was very fond of her."
"It certainly grows more convincing with every added piece of news we hear," mused the captain. "I wish wecouldfind some loophole for thinking that this tangle doesn't concern Cecily. But how on earth she can have any Chinese ancestry, beats me. She doesn't show a trace of it. One would certainly think she'd have almond eyes and coarse, straight hair, or a dark complexion, orsomething! It's the one thing that gives me the slightest hope that she can't be Carringford's daughter."
"But what shall we do now?" questioned Janet, bringing them back abruptly to the affairs of the moment.
"The first thing to do," declared Captain Brett, "is to question Cecily about her father and mother, and see whatsheknows. She may recall something that will give us another clue. If this proves to be the right trail, we've got to follow it up, get into communication with the Carringfords in England, and see if they will do anything about her. They ought to be willing to provide for his daughter. But we'll have to be very sure of our facts, or they'll pay no attention, I suppose. Somehow or other we'll have to trace out Carringford's career in England after he returned. I wish I knew the name he assumed, but no one seems to be able to tell us that."
"But evenstill, we haven't the slightest clue to the reason why Cecily was sent to Miss Benedict," mused Marcia.
"Why, yes, we have something new now," interrupted Janet. "Hasn't it occurred to you that Mr. Carringford's second wife might have been some connection of the Benedicts, or known them, or something?"
"Sure enough! sure enough!" cried the captain,thumping his knee. "This puts the thing in an entirely new light. We must find out a little more about that second wife. You get what you can from Cecily, but do be careful how you question her. The child is sensitive, and was apparently very fond of the lady she called her mother. Try not to probe too deeply. And remember to explain to her that you are not asking just out of idle curiosity, which she'd be perfectly right in resenting."
It was with no very pleasant anticipations that Marcia and Janet looked forward to their interview with Cecily next afternoon. How to approach the subject without giving her a clue to the real state of affairs, they were puzzled to know. Plan after plan they formed, only to reject after thinking them over. "Suppose Cecily should ask this," or "What if Cecily should inquire why we say that?" spoiled every outline of the conversation that they could imagine. At last Janet declared:
"It's perfectly useless to think now what we'll say, or what she'll answer. Let's just wait till the time comes and say what seemsbest at the moment. The whole conversation may be entirely different from anything we plan."
"I guess you're right," sighed Marcia. "I'm tired out thinking about it, anyhow." And so they put it all aside till Cecily's arrival.
When she came, that afternoon, she found two very serious and thoughtful friends awaiting her. One thing at least, they had determined,—not to put off the dreaded interview till later in the day, but have it over at once and get it off their minds. So when they were all comfortably seated in Marcia's cozy room, Janet began:
"Cecily, would you mind very much if we asked you a few questions? You remember, the other day, we said that something had come up concerning you, we thought, and we would tell you about it later. Well, we aren't quite ready to tell youallabout it yet, but it would help a great deal if you'd answer a few questions about yourself. Will you?" And she felt an immense sensation of relief, after thesewords were spoken, at having at least taken the first plunge.
"Why, of course!" assented Cecily, wonderingly. "That is, if I possibly can."
"And you'll remember that we aren't asking just out of curiosity, but because it may help to untangle your affairs?" interrupted Marcia, anxiously. Cecily only smiled and squeezed her hand, as if an answer to that were unnecessary.
"Well, dear," said Janet, in a hesitating voice, "could you tell us whether you know this: was your father ever married twice?"
Cecily started and flushed a little. "Oh, I—I don't know anything about such a thing!" she murmured. "I—I don't think so. You see, he died before I remember anything about him, and my mother never spoke of him to me very much."
"Then she never told you anything about that?" went on Janet.
"No," replied Cecily, very positively.
"Now, I have one more question to ask that I'm afraid may startle you, but please don'tattach too much importance to it. Was the lady you called mother your real mother or your stepmother?"
This time Cecily fairly jumped. "Oh, no, no!" she cried. "I'm sure, I'm very sure she was my own mother. She would certainly have told me if she had not been. I would have known it. Why do you ask?"
"That, you know, is what we can't just explain yet," answered Janet, evidently distressed. "Were you very, very fond of her, Cecily?"
"Indeed, yes!" replied the puzzled girl. "How could I help but be? She was so lovely and sweet and good to me, and seemed to live only for my comfort and happiness. I never dreamed of such a thing as her not being my own mother." There were real tears in Cecily's eyes as she made this declaration. Marcia and Janet experienced as unpleasant a sensation as if they had been compelled to torture a helpless kitten. And yet the task must be gone through with and there were further queries to make.
"Do forgive us for all this, Cecily," begged Marcia. "It hurts us horribly to make you feel badly. We wouldn't do it for the world if there weren't a good reason. But can you tell us this? Was there anything your mother ever said or did that would in any way suggest that she might not be—your own mother? Think hard, Cecily dear."
The girl sat a long while, chin in hand, staring out of the window at the tightly shuttered expanse of "Benedict's Folly" opposite. No one spoke, and the others made a vain pretense of working hard at their embroidery. But the hands of both shook so that the stitches were very, very crooked indeed. At last Cecily turned to them and spoke in a very subdued voice:
"These things are making me very unhappy, but I know you only mean them for my good. My mother did say one or two things that I thought nothing of at the time, but now, since your questions, seem as if they may have another meaning. One was this. We were looking in the mirror together one time, andI said how queer it was that I didn't look a bit like her. I was so fair and light-haired, and had rosy cheeks, and she was dark and her eyes were brown and her hair almost black. She smiled and said:
"'No, it isn't very strange when you think—' and then stopped very suddenly and flushed quite red. And I asked her what she meant, but she only replied: 'Oh, nothing, nothing, dear! Children often look very different from their parents, not at all like them.' And she wouldn't say any more. I thought it strange for a while, but soon forgot all about it. I can't imagine now what she meant, unless it was—that. The only other thing I remember is this. I asked her one time whether, when I was a tiny little baby, I wore pink or blue bows on my dresses. She was very busy about something at the time and she just said, sort of absent-mindedly, 'I don't know I'm sure.' And then she added, in a great hurry, 'Oh, I don't remember! Pink, I guess.' I thought it strange that she should forget how she dressed me, for she always hada very good memory. But I forgot that, too, very soon. That is all."
Marcia and Janet glanced uneasily at each other. The information seemed to confirm their worst apprehensions. But Janet went on:
"Just one more question, dear, and we'll stop this horrid inquisition. Can you tell us what was your mother's maiden name, the name of her people?"
"Yes," said Cecily. "It was Treadwell. But she hadn't any people left—they were all dead, and she was the last one of her family. But, oh! can't you tell me, girls, why you have had to ask all these questions? I have waited so patiently, and I have worried so about it all. And what you have said to-day has made me feel worse than ever."
"Dear heart, we don't want to tell you quite yet," soothed Marcia. "It wouldn't do you any good to know about it till we're positive beyond a doubt. It isn't anything so very terrible, anyhow. Nothing to worry about at all. But just something we wish might be alittle different. And nothing could possibly make the least difference in the way we care for you, anyway, so just don't worry another bit. Now I'm going to play for you." And she drew her violin from its case.
Marcia gave them quite a concert that afternoon, rendering selection after selection to please them, glad indeed of the diversion and relief from the unpleasantness of their accomplished task. But she did not play the "Träumerei," for some reason not very well defined even to herself, but vaguely connected with recent disclosures. At last Cecily herself asked for it, and then, of course, Marcia could not refrain from obliging her. When it was over, Cecily took her departure, and the girls, left alone, plunged at once into the discussion of the most recent developments of the mystery.
That evening Captain Brett and the two girls held a council of war.
"There's no denying," he said, "we've discovered the most important thing yet in learning that name—Treadwell. We've somethingto work from now. With that to start from, I can set on foot some inquiries over in England that may establish her identity. And you must ask Miss Benedict (though I hate to be constantly troubling her in this way) if she has any recollection of some one by that name who could possibly have any claim on her. Do this as soon as possible. We're certain to get at the root of the matter very soon now."
"Do you think," asked Marcia, "that those remarks of her mother's that Cecily repeated look as if we were right in believing it to be her stepmother?"
"It certainly seems so to me," he acknowledged. "Of course, we must remember this. When you have a suspicion that certain things are so, every little circumstance and every lightest remark seem to confirm you in that belief. Often these things have absolutely no bearing on it whatever, but youthinkthey have, simply because you fear that they have or want them to have. So we mustn't be misled by chance remarks. I will admit, however, that theseparticular ones seem singularly to bear us out in our conjectures."
"Well, do let's get some of these things settled to-morrow," sighed Marcia. "I'm losing so much sleep over it that I'm beginning to feel like an owl. I just worry and worry all night long it seems to me. Let's ask Miss Benedict about the name of Treadwell when we go there, if we can possibly manage to see her."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you about that," interrupted the captain. "But I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to remain at home to-morrow. I'm due downtown on some errands that will take me to a number of places. And at the same time, I'm expecting an important business message over the telephone. I shall have to ask you to be here without fail to take the message for me. I can't trust Eliza to get it right. So you'll have to put off your visit for another day. But don't be too much disappointed, for while I'm away I shall be making inquiries as to how we must go about tracing the name of Treadwell in England. That willbe something accomplished." And with this consolation the girls had to be content.
"Now," said Janet, next morning, when the captain had gone and they had resigned themselves to a long day of waiting, "I have a plan to propose. Let's not talk or eventhinka thing about all this business to-day. If we do, we'll only make ourselves more miserable than we are. I found a perfectly fascinating new book in the library yesterday. Let's sit and read it, turn about, and see if we can't both finish those centerpieces we've been working on so long. We'll have to work like everything to do it. That ought to keep our minds off of our troubles. And we'll telephone for some French pastry for dessert at luncheon, and some candy for this afternoon."
The plan seemed to offer pleasant possibilities, and they both settled themselves comfortably in the cool living-room to pass the morning. The book was well begun and the embroidery advancing rapidly, when Eliza came in with a letter just left in the box, and deposited it on the library table.
"It's for the captain," she announced, as she turned away. Marcia jumped up and scrutinized the writing.
"Oh, Janet!" she exclaimed at once; "it's from the major!"
"It is?" cried her friend, apprehensively. "Then it's some more horrid news he's unearthed. I'm certain of it! Not a letter comes from him but it's something to worry us more. I just hate the sight of them!"
"Yes; and what's more," moaned Marcia, "we can't even know what's in this one till Father comes home this evening. Why, I feel as if I'd go crazy, having to wait all that time!"
"Well, you'll have to wait," commented Janet, philosophically, "so you might as well do it as peacefully as you can. Come, let's go on with our book."
It was all very well to speak philosophically about the matter, however, but toactso was a different affair. Try as they might, they could not, from that moment, concentrate theirminds on the pleasant program they had mapped out for themselves. A dozen times during the morning Marcia would stop reading and glance speculatively at the unopened letter. A dozen times Janet left her fancy-work and strolled over to inspect the superscription anew. The French pastry at luncheon failed to soothe them, and the candy in the afternoon remained uneaten.
At three o'clock they took to staring out of the window to watch for the captain's return. And as they watched they detailed to each other the various things they surmised might be in the major's letter. Marcia asserted that he had probably discovered the second wife's name to be Treadwell, thus confirming their worst fears. And Janet declared that he had no doubt ascertained just why Cecily had been sent to the Benedict home. Perhaps it was even to prevent her being sent back to China to her mandarin grandfather. Nothing they could imagine was too dreadful to fit into the scheme of things. By half past five they were the most miserable pair of girls in the big city.And at that moment, they heard the captain's key in the hall door.
"Quick! quick! quick!" they breathlessly panted at him, explaining nothing, but only waving the major's letter in his face. Asking no questions, he took it, slit it open, and glanced hurriedly through the contents. Then he gave a long, low whistle.
"Oh, tell us!" groaned Marcia. "What more that's quite horrible has he found out?"
For answer the captain sat down and laughed till the tears stood in his eyes. At last he managed to gasp: "Well, of all the dances I've ever been led, this is the worst and most foolish! But it's just like the major. He always was the most impulsive chap. You'll be delighted to know that he's made one more discovery—and that is that he has been 'barking up the wrong tree,' as they say. Here's what he writes:
"It occurred to me yesterday, in connection with this affair, to look up some of the old diaries I used to keep in the China days. They have been stored away in the attic in a chest for years, but I gotthem out and have been running over them, hoping to come across an entry that might have some bearing on the matter in question. And, quite to my chagrin, I did discover this. I will quote it, just as it stands:Today Carringford was married according to native customs. None of us invited."But here's the point of departure, so to speak. This entry was made on March 10, 1890, and you see it doesn't agree at all with the inscription on your bracelet, which is, I believe, September 25, 1889. So, of course, the only inference that can be drawn is that they were two separate and distinct affairs that have absolutely no connection. So sorry! Anything else I can do for you, I'll be delighted, etc., etc."
"It occurred to me yesterday, in connection with this affair, to look up some of the old diaries I used to keep in the China days. They have been stored away in the attic in a chest for years, but I gotthem out and have been running over them, hoping to come across an entry that might have some bearing on the matter in question. And, quite to my chagrin, I did discover this. I will quote it, just as it stands:Today Carringford was married according to native customs. None of us invited.
"But here's the point of departure, so to speak. This entry was made on March 10, 1890, and you see it doesn't agree at all with the inscription on your bracelet, which is, I believe, September 25, 1889. So, of course, the only inference that can be drawn is that they were two separate and distinct affairs that have absolutely no connection. So sorry! Anything else I can do for you, I'll be delighted, etc., etc."
The captain did not finish the remainder of the letter, for the excellent reason that no one of his audience was paying the least attention to it.
When he looked up, at this point, Marcia was prone on the couch alternately sobbing and laughing and sobbing again, and Janet was staring out of the window, blinking hard to restrain the tears of relief that would insist on rolling down her cheeks.
And in the midst of this curious state of affairs,who should open the door and walk in but—Aunt Minerva! Suitcase in hand, she stared at the three in amazement for a second till, with a glad cry of recognition, they all rushed upon her and literally snowed her under with embraces.
"I couldn't let you know I was coming, because I didn't know myself till this morning," she explained. "Drusilla's sister Ellen came in unexpectedly from the West, and of course that relieved me. I just packed up in half an hour, and here I am. Whatever is the matter with you all? When I came in you looked as if you'd just attended the funeral of your last friend. I hope Eliza hasn't given you all indigestion!"
"We'll tell you after dinner, Minerva," laughed the captain. "It's a long and complicated tale. My, but we're glad to see you again!"