That evening they made her sit down and listen while they rehearsed the story. It had to begin with the description of their day on shipboard, the very day that she had goneaway, and ended with the major's final letter.
She listened to it all very quietly and without any comments whatever, except for an indignant and scornful sniff once in a while.
"Well," demanded Marcia, when it was over and they were waiting for her to speak, "what do you think of it?"
"I think," she remarked cryptically, "that you needed Minerva Brett here to manage this affair for you.Shewould have given you a little better advice than to go off on a wild goose chase down to Pennsylvania on the wrong trail!"
They stared at her in open-mouthed amazement.
"You might explain yourself, Minerva," mildly suggested the captain.
"Imight, but I'm not going to!" she replied firmly. "At least, not just at present." And with a tantalizing smile, she sweetly bade them all good night and departed to her room.
"Janet," said Marcia, that night, as she curled her arms up over her head on the pillow, "isn't it heavenly to go to sleep with thathorrid weight lifted from your mind? We seem to be just as far as ever from solving the riddle about Cecily, but at least, the darling isn't the granddaughter of a mandarin! But, do you know, I can't help but wonder where that poor little granddaughter is, and what became of her. She sort of seems like a real person to me now."
"I don't wonder about her, and what's more, I don't care," sighed Janet. "As long as it wasn't Cecily. What's puzzling me is how your aunt expects to solve the riddle? What cansheknow about it?"
"Well, I don't bother aboutthat," returned Marcia, "because I'm glad to let somebody else have a hand in working at it now. I'm content to leave it to Aunt Minerva!"
For an entire week thereafter Aunt Minerva went her own mysterious way, calm and unruffled herself, but keeping the rest of her family on tenter-hooks of excitement.
She wrote mysterious letters which she would allow no one but herself to mail, and received mysterious replies, the contents of which she kept a dark secret. They watched her with the feeling that they were quite outside the game now, and that she had the keys of the situation entirely in her own hands. Which was indeed the truth!
At last one day, after receiving a particularly bulky communication, she deigned to speak.
"Can you carry a message for me to Miss Benedict?" she inquired of Marcia and Janet.
"Yes!" they replied eagerly, but humbly.
"Ask her if she could possibly grant an interview in her own house to the four of us here—and one other. It's very important."
"Oh, Aunt Minerva, youknowshe never receivesanystrangers in the house!" expostulated Marcia.
"I know that, of course. And you told me the reason, which I quite appreciate. But there's bound to come a time, even in her peculiar experience, when it's expedient to break a rule like that. The time has come now, and you can tell her that I'm sure she'll be very sorry if she does not grant this request. The matter intimately concerns her, or I would not dream of intruding on her."
"Well, you may as well telluswhat you've been concocting, Minerva," interrupted Captain Brett. "You've kept us in the dark about long enough, haven't you? And if I'm to go in there with the procession, I'd like to know a thing or two about where I'm at, instead of sitting around like a dummy! And who is this 'other one' you allude to, anyway?"
Miss Minerva laughed at his impatience."You may well ask, Edwin! I think you must have been about as blind as a bat not to see right along what struckmethe very first minute after you told me what the jig-saw things on that bracelet meant! As soon as I heard the word 'Amoy' the idea jumped right into my mind. About two months ago I heard a most wonderful address by a Dr. Atwater, a medical missionary from China, whose headquarters are at the hospital inAmoy. And you can easily see that I thought of him at once, when—"
"By Jove!" thundered the captain, striking his knee with his fist, "what a jolly goose I've been not to have thought of themissionsthere at once!"
"I should say you were!" commented Miss Minerva, caustically. "You and the major together!"
"Well, you see I've never come in contact with them much—" began the captain, apologetically.
"Never mind that now," went on Miss Minerva. "I thought of Dr. Atwater right away.He's been there many years, and knows something about most every one in the region, I guess. Anyhow, I decided that I'd get his address (he's in this country on a year's furlough) and write to him about this queer case. And I did. And he has answered me—"
"And were you right?" they all interrupted.
"I wassoright," she announced triumphantly, "that I've asked him to come and tell this story (which he has only outlined in his letter) in full to Miss Benedict. And I want you all to be there to hear it. And what's more, I'm not going to tell you another word about it till you hear it from him, so it's no use to tease for hints! Go right in and ask Miss Benedict when she can arrange for this interview—the sooner, the better!"
It was not an easy matter to persuade Miss Benedict to grant Aunt Minerva's request. She was shy and timid about receiving strangers, and her affection of the eyes, as well as her curious manner of living, made it hardfor her to do so. She had to acknowledge that it would be even harder to see them elsewhere. Nor could she believe that the affair really concernedher, except very indirectly—through Cecily, perhaps. It was for Cecily's sake alone that she at last gave a reluctant consent, assigning the following Wednesday afternoon as the appointed time. And the intervening two days was spent by them all in a restless fever of expectation—all, at least, except Aunt Minerva!
On Wednesday afternoon, Dr. Atwater arrived at the apartment and was taken in charge at once by Miss Minerva, who guarded him like a dragon lest a hint of the important secret should slip out before the appointed time. He was a tall, angular man with a gray, Vandyke beard, and his face was grave in repose. But he talked brightly and interestingly and had the jolliest laugh in the world. The girls thought him very unlike their preconceived notions of a missionary. He and the captain fraternized at once, exchanging talesof the Far East to which Janet and Marcia listened in absorbed wonder.
But at last Aunt Minerva was ready, and the "procession" (as the captain insisted on calling it) filed into the street and proceeded to the gate of "Benedict's Folly." So unusual was the sight of the little crowd waiting to be admitted, where no admittance had been granted in so many years, that every passer-by stared at them open-mouthed.
Miss Benedict opened the gate, bonneted and veiled as usual, and Marcia made the introductions as best she could, to which Miss Benedict's replies were murmured so low that no one could hear them. Then she led the way to the house and into the darkened parlor, where they all sat down, with a sensation of heavy constraint. After that, Cecily came in and was presented to Dr. Atwater. He started slightly when he saw her, and looked into her face long and scrutinizingly in the dim light.
When Miss Benedict had removed her bonnet and veil Aunt Minerva broke the silence:
"Miss Benedict, I have brought Dr. Atwater here because I have discovered that he has something to tell you—something that will be of intense interest to you. I know this may seem incredible, but I can only beg that you will do us the favor to listen."
Miss Benedict inclined her head without speaking, and Aunt Minerva continued:
"You have heard, I believe, about the curious incident of the bracelets, but I do not know whether you have heard about the translation of the strange characters on them."
Miss Benedict murmured that she had not, and Miss Minerva explained it as briefly as she could. Then she went on:
"Dr. Atwater, here, is a medical missionary from Amoy, and I have found that he not only knew the owner of the bracelets, but has some personal recollections about them that we think will concern you. Will you listen to Dr. Atwater, if you please?"
Miss Benedict again bowed in assent, and Dr. Atwater began in an easy, conversational tone:
"Miss Brett has remarked correctly that I knew the owner of the bracelets, and all about the characters on them, and a good deal of the story connected with them. By sheer chance, or rather, perhaps, I ought to say by very good reasoning, she has hit on about the only person living now who does know anything about them! Here's the story:
"A good many years ago in Amoy—I was quite ayoungdoctor then—I was thrown in with a clever young fellow who had recently landed there, having come on a sailing-ship from America. He seemed rather at loose ends, so to speak,—didn't know the language, didn't have any money, didn't know what to do with himself, didn't have any occupation, and spent most of his time wandering aimlessly about the town.
"He was a fine, upstanding, straightforward chap (he said his name was Archibald Ferris), but he evidently had something on his mind, for he was gloomy and depressed. It began to worry me for fear he'd drift into trouble if he kept on that way. So I tried to get himinterested in my own work, and invited him to go around with me on some of my long tours. We didn't have any hospital then, and I had to go about from town to town doing my medical work as I went. He came with me very gladly, and was of a good deal of assistance, and we grew to be firm friends. But I realized there was something he was pining for, and after a long while he confessed to me what it was.
"He wanted aviolin! He adored music, played well, but had lost or parted from his instrument in some way. (He didn't explain that, just then.) Well, a missionary's salary isn't munificent, so I couldn't very well grant his wish out of my own pocket, much as I wanted to. The best I could do was to get him a position in a Chinese tea-exporting house in Amoy, where he could earn the money himself. It was better for him to be regularly occupied, anyway.
"After a few months he had saved a sufficient sum, and sent off to Shanghai for his coveted treasure—he couldn't wait to get itover from America! After it came he was actually happy—for a while. Hewasa marvelous musician for his age, I'll admit, and he could hold us spellbound an entire evening at a time with his bow. The natives adored him, and gave him the name 'Chok-gàk ê lâng' or 'maker of melodies.'
"Well, he had the musical temperament, and after his violin came he couldn't stay long in the tea-house, but got to going about with me again on my tours—always with his precious violin. He was really of the greatest assistance, because his music was almost as good as an anæsthetic in many instances—could calm the most excitable fever-case I ever came across.
"It was on one of these tours that he met young Miss Cecily Marlowe at the English mission in Sio-khé—"
At this point every one gave a little start of surprise and looked toward Cecily, who alone sat gazing, wide-eyed and absorbed, at Dr. Atwater.
"She was a wonderfully beautiful girl," hecontinued, "with a color like English roses in her cheeks. The Chinese called her 'Flower-maiden,' or 'Hor-lú.' She had but recently come to the mission from her home in England. Well, it was a case of love at first sight on both sides! And before many more months Ferris announced to me that he was going back into the position at the tea-house and there earn enough money to be able to marry her. But he also told me that Miss Marlowe, while very much in love with him, was still very devoted to her work there and very earnest about the cause for which she had left her home and come so far to serve. She insisted that, if they married, she must still be allowed to continue in the missionary work. To this he was perfectly willing to assent.
"So they were married in the English mission at Amoy, and on the wedding-day he gave her this pair of bracelets which he had had made after his own design. They were not an expensive gift, but he was poor, in worldly goods, and it was the best he could afford. After the honeymoon they built a little homeon the island of Ko-longsu, right near the city of Amoy. He went on with his work in the tea-house, and she with her teaching in the mission-school on the island.
"It seemed an ideal arrangement, and they were ideally happy for a number of years. He never advanced very far in the tea-house, for he loved his music too well and he had no head for business. But he made enough to keep them comfortably, and more they did not want.
"Then about 1898, I think, came a change. To their great joy a little daughter was born to them. She was a beautiful baby, and for over a year there was no happier home in all China. But one day, when the baby was about a year and a half old, Ferris came to me and told me he was in trouble and wanted my advice.
"He began by telling me that the baby seemed to be drooping and that he himself was not feeling quite up to the mark. I looked them both over and found he was right. The climate was too much for them. It is for many foreigners sooner or later. I told him theyought to go home for a year or so and recuperate. He said he couldn't—didn't have any home to go to, in fact. Had long ago quarreled violently with his people, and would never go back to them. Moreover, he had his wife and baby to consider. He couldn't afford to give up and lose his position. If he did, what were they to do?
"I suggested that they go to his wife's people in England. He said there was difficulty in that direction, too. She had only a married brother and his wife, and they had not approved of her giving up all her prospects to come to China as a missionary. They heard from them only at long intervals, though recently, to be sure, they had offered to take care of the little girl if the time came that she needed change of air.
"Ferris told me that he and his wife naturally could not bear to consider such a thing, but on the other hand, the baby's welfare must be their first consideration. What should I advise them to do?
"I considered the matter carefully, and atlast told him he'd better accept the offer to care for the baby for a year or so. She, at least, would be provided for, and he and his wife could then take their chances without imperiling her future. To follow this advice nearly broke their hearts, but the next missionaries who went back to England on furlough took the baby with them, and gave her into the care of the brother and his wife. It is needless to say that Cecily Ferris is the same whom we know as Cecily Marlowe. I would recognize her anywhere, for she is the image of her mother." And he looked toward the girl sitting in the dim light, held by the wonder of his story. The silence that ensued was broken first by her.
"Tell me, if you please," she half whispered, "did my father ever—ever play to me on his violin? Do you know what he played?"
"Why, I'm sure he did," smiled Dr. Atwater. "I used to stop at his house early in the evening sometimes, and I generally found him fiddling away by the side of your cradle. Mostly it was an air he called 'Träumerei,' orsomething like that. I'm not very good at remembering musical names."
"I knew it!—IknewI'd heard it somewhere, over and over again, when I was little!" she cried. "And yet I never could remember anything else about it!"
"He used to say it was his favorite," remarked Dr. Atwater.
Suddenly Miss Benedict spoke, for the first time during the recital. There was a tremble of suppressed excitement in her voice.
"Is that all the story?"
"Oh, no!" resumed Dr. Atwater. "There's not much more to tell, but I'm sorry to say, the rest is not very cheerful. After the baby's departure Ferris's health failed perceptibly. He finally gave up his position, but Mrs. Ferris kept on with her work and nursed him as well. But the strain of all this began to tell on her, and at last, in 1900, I advised her to take a holiday, and go north to Tientsin with her husband to recuperate. We missionaries raised enough among ourselves to finance this little vacation for them. Before he went, however,Ferris had a long talk with me one day, and confided to me a few things about himself and his past. To begin with, he said that Archibald Ferris was not his right name. He had assumed it at a certain period of his life because he had broken away from his family, and did not deem it best that what remained of that family should ever know he existed. They probably thought him dead—in fact he was sure that they did. And his return to existence, so far as they were concerned, would simply complicate family affairs. Only his wife knew who these relatives were. He had recently, however, sent word to his wife's brother that should anything ever happen by which Cecily would be left alone, she should be sent to America and placed in the care of this family, whose name he had given them under the seal of secrecy, if the brother and his wife were unable or unwilling to provide for her. He also sent one of the bracelets to England to be given to his little daughter, requesting that she be always allowed to keep it. The mother always wore the other one.
"He was very much depressed that day, and told me, besides, that his career had been wrecked in the beginning—that he had dreamed of being a great violinist, but had been thwarted in strange ways. However, he declared that his life in China had been happy beyond words, except for the unhappy present. Then he bade me good-by, as he was starting for Tientsin the next day."
Dr. Atwater stopped abruptly and swallowed hard, as if what he had to tell next came with an effort. He went on presently. "It was at the time of the Boxer uprising. Ferris and his wife had almost reached Tientsin when the trouble broke out there, and—they were never seen alive again!" He stopped, and there was a tense silence in the room.
At last he continued: "I have always blamed myself for having been the unwitting cause of their death. I had advised them to go to Tientsin, though of course I could not foresee the dark days that were about to come. I wish with all my soul that I had not done so, that I had, perhaps, sent them somewhere else,but it is irrevocable now. There is no use dwelling on the past.
"Doubtless that is how the other bracelet came to be cast loose on the Oriental world. Probably it was stolen at the time, and passed from hand to hand till it came into the possession of Captain Brett. It is a strange coincidence that brought it back at last to its mate!
"It became my sad duty to notify Mr. Marlowe of the tragedy. In his reply—a frank, manly letter—he expressed his regret that a difference of opinion had ever interrupted the cordiality of his relations with his sister and her husband, and said that, as he and his wife already loved little Cecily devotedly, they would adopt her as their own. They were reluctant to have her childhood shadowed by her parents' sorrowful story, and so believed it best that she should never know that she was not indeed their daughter, Cecily Marlowe.
"Well, that is the story of the man who called himself Archibald Ferris," said Dr. Atwater. He looked about him inquiringly and added: "I hope that my telling it hasgiven all the enlightenment that was expected?"
During his long recital every one had sat with eyes fastened upon him, and no one of his audience had a thought for the other. Now that it was over they each drew a long breath and settled back in their chairs. And then, for the first time, they noticed the curious conduct of Miss Benedict.
She was sitting far forward in her chair, her big gray eyes almost starting from her head, her hands clutching the arms of the chair till the blue veins stood out. On her forehead were great beads of perspiration, and she drew her breath in little gasps. Quite unconscious of their united gaze, she leaned forward and touched Dr. Atwater's arm with an imploring hand.
"Was there—was there no way of—of ascertaining hisrealname?" she stammered.
Dr. Atwater looked at her with compassion in his kindly eyes. "I know of but one thing that might have served as an identification," he conceded. "When I was giving him the medical examination, I noticed on his left upper armtwo small initials surrounded by a tiny row of dots. They were just such a mark as small boys often tattoo themselves with in indelible ink, and of course, they are there for life. Doubtless he had so decorated himself with his initials in his boyhood days—"
"Oh, whatwerethe initials?" interrupted Miss Benedict in a stifled voice.
"They were 'S. B.,'" replied Dr. Atwater.
With a little choking cry, Miss Benedict buried her face in her hands.
"Oh, it can't—itcan'tbepossible!" they heard her murmur. Then in an instant she had collected herself and gazed about at them all, amazement and incredulity in her lovely eyes.
"My friends," she spoke very quietly, "I cannot understand what this means. My brother's name was Sydney Benedict, and I remember when, as a boy, he had tattooed those initials on his left arm, as Dr. Atwater has described them. And he performed wonderfully on the violin, and dreamed only of being a great artist some day. He longed to goabroad and study, but my father would not hear of it. He wished his only son to enter his business and continue it after him. They were both high-tempered and had many terrible quarrels about it. I—my sister and I—sided with my father. At last my father threatened to disinherit Sydney if he did not accede to his wishes. And on the following morning—it was his twenty-first birthday—we found only a note pinned to his pillow, saying he had gone away forever. He had taken with him only his violin.
"But," and here she hesitated, gazing around inquiringly on the company, "I cannot understand what follows. Two weeks later we received word from a steamer that had just arrived in Europe from New York, that a young man named Sydney Benedict had fallen or jumped overboard one night when they were two days out, and his loss was not discovered till next day. Only his violin remained in the cabin. He was certainly lost at sea. I cannot understand—" She suddenly pressed both hands to her head as if it pained her.
"Wait a moment!" cried Dr. Atwater. "I believe I can explain that. I should have told it before, but I quite forgot; there was so much to tell. He did once confide to me (apropos of some little adventure we had had together on one of my trips, when I almost lost my life) that he too had once had the narrowest kind of escape from death. He said that on leaving America he had taken a steamer for Europe, hoping to find the means to study there. They hadn't passed Sandy Hook, however, before he became violently seasick, and lay in his berth like a log for twenty-four hours. On the second night it became so stiflingly hot in his cabin that he felt he must get to the deck for air or die.
"So he struggled out and up the companionway, somehow, meeting no one, for it was very late. On the deck he crawled in behind a life-boat, and lay in a rather unprotected outer portion of the deck, so sick that he scarcely knew where he was or how dangerous was the spot he had chosen. All of a sudden the vessel gave an unusually heavy lurch, and before hecould clutch for any hold he was catapulted into the sea.
"Curiously enough, the sudden ducking dispelled his horrible sickness, and when he came to the surface he found himself striking out to swim. Useless to shout for help from the great steamer, which had already passed a boat's length beyond him. But he was a strong swimmer, the night was warm, and he resolved not to give up till hehadto.
"All night, till dawn, he managed to keep on the surface, swimming and floating. And at daylight a sailing-vessel picked him up, numb and weary, and ready to go to the bottom at the next stroke. The ship on which he found himself was bound for China, and of course he had to 'tag along,' working his passage as a common sailor in return for his keep. It was then, I suspect, that he made up his mind to change his name. I think, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Archibald Ferris and Sydney Benedict are one and the same person!"
At this Aunt Minerva, who hadn't spoken aword since her speech of introduction, put on her glasses and swept the assembly with a triumphant gaze. The girls and Captain Brett were so absorbed that they could not utter a syllable, and Miss Benedict sat back in her chair in a stunned silence.
Only Cecily seemed unconscious enough of the strain to do the natural thing. She rose from her chair and went over to Miss Benedict, dropping down on her knees beside her, and snuggling her head on the older woman's shoulder with a confiding movement.
"I'm CecilyBenedictnow," she said simply, "and I—I love you—Aunt Alixe! I'm glad therewasa good reason why I was sent over here to you!"
Miss Benedict looked down at the golden head, and the terrible tension in her face relaxed.
"Sydney's child!—my little Cecily!" they heard her murmur.
But they heard no more, for at this point, Aunt Minerva arose and majestically motioned the entire company out of the room!
Janet dear:I know you think I'm a wretch not to have written in so long! but honestly, things have been happening so fast that I don't have time to sit down and write you about one event before a brand-new one has taken place.I've missed you horribly ever since you went back to Northam. It was a shame that you had to leave just after the grand clear-up of our mystery, for you've been missing some of the most wonderful parts—all the lovely things that have happened since.I think I've already written you about some of the changes that have taken place in "Benedict's Folly." It's the most remarkable thing—the way Aunt Minerva has taken that place—Miss Benedict and all—completely under her wing! Miss Benedict (who, by the way, wants us both to call her Miss Alixe) seemed completely helpless for a while after the "great day," and turned to Aunt Minerva for pretty nearly everything,—principally advice! You can imagine how Aunt Minerva is enjoying herself! She just loves nothing better thanmanaging people's affairs for them—if they want her to!In the first place, Aunt Minerva advised her to get the house into livable condition, and find suitable servants, and get some modern clothes. And as poor Miss Alixe acted like a lost kitten in going about it, Aunt Minerva just took hold and managed the whole thing. And you'd never recognize our dilapidated old house of mystery now, it's so changed and so lovely. Miss Alixe has decided that now there is no further reason for her not using their large fortune, and everything must be the nicest possible—for Cecily's sake.And Cecily!—what a darling she is! Of course we are simply inseparable. She has even begun to go to the high school with me, because Miss AlixeandAunt Minerva have decided that it will be better for her than studying with a private tutor. She is the happiest thing I ever saw, and says she feels as if she were living in a fairy-story all the time! We are just longing for the Easter vacation to come, and your visit. Then we three can be together again in the good old way. Won't it be glorious?But this is all aside from the other two big pieces of news I wanted to tell you. Almost from the beginning Aunt Minerva has been urging Miss Alixe to go to a first-class oculist and have her eyes examined. And at last, a few weeks ago, they went together, and what do you suppose is the result? He said that almost without a doubt her sight canbe restored, with proper treatment and possibly a slight operation later. She began the treatment at once, and already her sight is much improved. She can stand a stronger light, and has those awful headaches less frequently. You see, it was years since she had had any advice about them, and they've made great strides in treatment of the eyes since then. They can almost do the impossible. We are all so happy about it!And now for the last and biggest piece of news! Perhaps you are wondering what has become of Miss Alixe's mysterious and invisible older sister, and it is about her that I'm going to tell you. You will never in the world be able to guess what has happened.Aunt Minerva insisted (again Aunt Minerva) that Miss Alixe must have one of the big alienists (that's what they call specialists in mental diseases, I've learned) see Miss Cornelia, the sister, and perhaps he could tell whether anything could be done forher. It took a long time to persuade Miss Alixe that there was any use in doing this, but at last she consented. I think she has always been very sensitive about that poor sister's losing her mind, and she never wanted any one to see her. Even after she had a number of servants in the house, she wouldn't let any one wait on Miss Cornelia but herself.Well, the great doctor came and was there for hours and asked a terrific lot of questions—all about everything that had happened for years and years.He learned one thing that interested him more than anything else, he said. Do you remember the day last summer when we were there, sitting in the garden, and I played on my violin—how Miss Alixe came down in a great hurry and asked me to stop because it disturbed her sister? You may remember, too, that I was playing "Träumerei"—had played it twice? Well, she told the doctor that when Miss Cornelia heard that, she acted very much excited, cried, and twisted her hands and tried to speak. (She hasn't spoken an intelligible word since she had the "stroke.") Miss Alixe also told him how their favorite brother had played so much on the violin, particularly that same air.He said this was a most hopeful sign—it indicated that conditions were now such that there was a possibility of her reason and memory and even speech being restored, provided they could touch just the right note of association.After he had thought the matter over a long time he decided to try an experiment. And he selected me—little, insignificantme—to help! He had me come in and bring my violin and sit in the room with Miss Cornelia, a little behind her, so she would not notice me particularly. Then he had Miss Alixe and Cecily also sitting there in plain sight of her, just quietly sewing or reading and not paying any particular attention to any one. He and Aunt Minerva stayed outside, watching through the partly opened door.It was the first time I had ever seen Miss Cornelia (except that time when the shutter blew open), and, Janet, she ismagnificentlooking—entirely different from what I had imagined! She is large and stately and imposing, with white hair like Miss Alixe's, piled under a lace cap, and great black eyes. She just sat there quietly knitting, and took no notice of any one. You would not have known that there was anything the matter with her, except that her face was almost expressionless—as if she wasn't thinking of anything at all. I can't describe it any other way.Well, there we sat, and at a given signal from the doctor outside the door I was to begin—very, very quietly and softly—to play the "Träumerei." You can just imagine how nervous I was—so much depended on my doing just the right thing! My hands shook, and my knees shook, and my heart thumped, and I thought I should never be able even to hold the bow. It seemed an age before the doctor raised his hand as a signal, but when he did I tucked the violin under my chin and fairly prayed that I shouldn't make a failure of my part, anyway!And I played the "Träumerei" through, the very best I could—and nothing happened. Miss Cornelia went right on knitting and never noticed it at all. Then the doctor made another signal, and I began it again. This time she laid down her knitting, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the back of the chair. And when I'd finished forthe second time, whatdoyou suppose happened?She opened her eyes, looked over at Miss Alixe, andspoke, for the first time in nearly thirty years! And this is what she said, as simply and quietly as though all those thirty years had never elapsed:"Sydney must have come in again; I hear him practising!""Sydney must have come in again; I hear him practising!"Miss Alixe was so startled she looked ready to faint away. But she managed to say, "No, Cornelia, but I'll tell you all about it." Then the doctor in great excitement beckoned us all to come out of the room quickly and leave her alone with Miss Alixe. So we vanished, and the two were there together a long, long time. At last Miss Alixe sent for Cecily, and she was gone a long time, too.When it was all over, the doctor said it was the most successful thing that had ever happened in all his experience. Miss Cornelia is completely restored to memory and speech. And after the first shock of learning all that had been blank to her for these past years, she rallied well, and is now resting and recuperating under the care of Miss Alixe and a trained nurse. She still finds it very hard to realize all the changes that have happened in those thirty years, and she grieves a great deal over the death of her brother, which seems very recent and terrible to her. But she is simply devoted to Cecily, and Cecily is growing almost as fond ofheras she is of Miss Alixe. Next summer the whole family is going with us to spend two months in Northam (Aunt Minerva'sdoings again!) because it is so lovely and restful there. And won't we have a wonderful summer together, Janet dear? I can hardly wait for the time to come!Well, that is all the news I have to tell, and I guess you'll agree with me that it certainly is enough—and very satisfying!One thing amuses me to pieces, Janet, every time I think of it. Do you remember how, when you first came to visit us last summer, I was explaining to you all I'd discovered about "Benedict's Folly" and flattering myself with the idea that I, or, rather, you and I, would work out the puzzle and solve the mystery—all by ourselves?What little geese we were! A lot wedidtoward unraveling any of that tangle! Even father and Major Goodrich were way off the track. It took Aunt Minerva (the darling!) to walk right in and clear the whole thing up! Here's "Hurrah!" then, for Aunt Minerva! She certainly had the laugh onus!However, I sometimes console myself with the thought that it was we (you and I) who first took an interest in that shuttered old house in the garden. If we hadn't—who knows?—we would probably never have met Cecily, and things would be just the same as ever there, and Miss Alixe wouldn't have—But what's the use of going into all that! The "girl next door" is our own dearest friend now, and everything is all right.I just looked out of the window and saw a light in Cecily's room. She's also writing to you to-night. We promised each other we both would. I'm growing sleepy now, so good-night and heaps of love.
Janet dear:
I know you think I'm a wretch not to have written in so long! but honestly, things have been happening so fast that I don't have time to sit down and write you about one event before a brand-new one has taken place.
I've missed you horribly ever since you went back to Northam. It was a shame that you had to leave just after the grand clear-up of our mystery, for you've been missing some of the most wonderful parts—all the lovely things that have happened since.
I think I've already written you about some of the changes that have taken place in "Benedict's Folly." It's the most remarkable thing—the way Aunt Minerva has taken that place—Miss Benedict and all—completely under her wing! Miss Benedict (who, by the way, wants us both to call her Miss Alixe) seemed completely helpless for a while after the "great day," and turned to Aunt Minerva for pretty nearly everything,—principally advice! You can imagine how Aunt Minerva is enjoying herself! She just loves nothing better thanmanaging people's affairs for them—if they want her to!
In the first place, Aunt Minerva advised her to get the house into livable condition, and find suitable servants, and get some modern clothes. And as poor Miss Alixe acted like a lost kitten in going about it, Aunt Minerva just took hold and managed the whole thing. And you'd never recognize our dilapidated old house of mystery now, it's so changed and so lovely. Miss Alixe has decided that now there is no further reason for her not using their large fortune, and everything must be the nicest possible—for Cecily's sake.
And Cecily!—what a darling she is! Of course we are simply inseparable. She has even begun to go to the high school with me, because Miss AlixeandAunt Minerva have decided that it will be better for her than studying with a private tutor. She is the happiest thing I ever saw, and says she feels as if she were living in a fairy-story all the time! We are just longing for the Easter vacation to come, and your visit. Then we three can be together again in the good old way. Won't it be glorious?
But this is all aside from the other two big pieces of news I wanted to tell you. Almost from the beginning Aunt Minerva has been urging Miss Alixe to go to a first-class oculist and have her eyes examined. And at last, a few weeks ago, they went together, and what do you suppose is the result? He said that almost without a doubt her sight canbe restored, with proper treatment and possibly a slight operation later. She began the treatment at once, and already her sight is much improved. She can stand a stronger light, and has those awful headaches less frequently. You see, it was years since she had had any advice about them, and they've made great strides in treatment of the eyes since then. They can almost do the impossible. We are all so happy about it!
And now for the last and biggest piece of news! Perhaps you are wondering what has become of Miss Alixe's mysterious and invisible older sister, and it is about her that I'm going to tell you. You will never in the world be able to guess what has happened.
Aunt Minerva insisted (again Aunt Minerva) that Miss Alixe must have one of the big alienists (that's what they call specialists in mental diseases, I've learned) see Miss Cornelia, the sister, and perhaps he could tell whether anything could be done forher. It took a long time to persuade Miss Alixe that there was any use in doing this, but at last she consented. I think she has always been very sensitive about that poor sister's losing her mind, and she never wanted any one to see her. Even after she had a number of servants in the house, she wouldn't let any one wait on Miss Cornelia but herself.
Well, the great doctor came and was there for hours and asked a terrific lot of questions—all about everything that had happened for years and years.He learned one thing that interested him more than anything else, he said. Do you remember the day last summer when we were there, sitting in the garden, and I played on my violin—how Miss Alixe came down in a great hurry and asked me to stop because it disturbed her sister? You may remember, too, that I was playing "Träumerei"—had played it twice? Well, she told the doctor that when Miss Cornelia heard that, she acted very much excited, cried, and twisted her hands and tried to speak. (She hasn't spoken an intelligible word since she had the "stroke.") Miss Alixe also told him how their favorite brother had played so much on the violin, particularly that same air.
He said this was a most hopeful sign—it indicated that conditions were now such that there was a possibility of her reason and memory and even speech being restored, provided they could touch just the right note of association.
After he had thought the matter over a long time he decided to try an experiment. And he selected me—little, insignificantme—to help! He had me come in and bring my violin and sit in the room with Miss Cornelia, a little behind her, so she would not notice me particularly. Then he had Miss Alixe and Cecily also sitting there in plain sight of her, just quietly sewing or reading and not paying any particular attention to any one. He and Aunt Minerva stayed outside, watching through the partly opened door.
It was the first time I had ever seen Miss Cornelia (except that time when the shutter blew open), and, Janet, she ismagnificentlooking—entirely different from what I had imagined! She is large and stately and imposing, with white hair like Miss Alixe's, piled under a lace cap, and great black eyes. She just sat there quietly knitting, and took no notice of any one. You would not have known that there was anything the matter with her, except that her face was almost expressionless—as if she wasn't thinking of anything at all. I can't describe it any other way.
Well, there we sat, and at a given signal from the doctor outside the door I was to begin—very, very quietly and softly—to play the "Träumerei." You can just imagine how nervous I was—so much depended on my doing just the right thing! My hands shook, and my knees shook, and my heart thumped, and I thought I should never be able even to hold the bow. It seemed an age before the doctor raised his hand as a signal, but when he did I tucked the violin under my chin and fairly prayed that I shouldn't make a failure of my part, anyway!
And I played the "Träumerei" through, the very best I could—and nothing happened. Miss Cornelia went right on knitting and never noticed it at all. Then the doctor made another signal, and I began it again. This time she laid down her knitting, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the back of the chair. And when I'd finished forthe second time, whatdoyou suppose happened?
She opened her eyes, looked over at Miss Alixe, andspoke, for the first time in nearly thirty years! And this is what she said, as simply and quietly as though all those thirty years had never elapsed:
"Sydney must have come in again; I hear him practising!"
"Sydney must have come in again; I hear him practising!"
Miss Alixe was so startled she looked ready to faint away. But she managed to say, "No, Cornelia, but I'll tell you all about it." Then the doctor in great excitement beckoned us all to come out of the room quickly and leave her alone with Miss Alixe. So we vanished, and the two were there together a long, long time. At last Miss Alixe sent for Cecily, and she was gone a long time, too.
When it was all over, the doctor said it was the most successful thing that had ever happened in all his experience. Miss Cornelia is completely restored to memory and speech. And after the first shock of learning all that had been blank to her for these past years, she rallied well, and is now resting and recuperating under the care of Miss Alixe and a trained nurse. She still finds it very hard to realize all the changes that have happened in those thirty years, and she grieves a great deal over the death of her brother, which seems very recent and terrible to her. But she is simply devoted to Cecily, and Cecily is growing almost as fond ofheras she is of Miss Alixe. Next summer the whole family is going with us to spend two months in Northam (Aunt Minerva'sdoings again!) because it is so lovely and restful there. And won't we have a wonderful summer together, Janet dear? I can hardly wait for the time to come!
Well, that is all the news I have to tell, and I guess you'll agree with me that it certainly is enough—and very satisfying!
One thing amuses me to pieces, Janet, every time I think of it. Do you remember how, when you first came to visit us last summer, I was explaining to you all I'd discovered about "Benedict's Folly" and flattering myself with the idea that I, or, rather, you and I, would work out the puzzle and solve the mystery—all by ourselves?
What little geese we were! A lot wedidtoward unraveling any of that tangle! Even father and Major Goodrich were way off the track. It took Aunt Minerva (the darling!) to walk right in and clear the whole thing up! Here's "Hurrah!" then, for Aunt Minerva! She certainly had the laugh onus!
However, I sometimes console myself with the thought that it was we (you and I) who first took an interest in that shuttered old house in the garden. If we hadn't—who knows?—we would probably never have met Cecily, and things would be just the same as ever there, and Miss Alixe wouldn't have—
But what's the use of going into all that! The "girl next door" is our own dearest friend now, and everything is all right.
I just looked out of the window and saw a light in Cecily's room. She's also writing to you to-night. We promised each other we both would. I'm growing sleepy now, so good-night and heaps of love.
Marcia.February 28, 1913.
P. S. Did I tell you this before, I wonder? Cecily has both the bracelets now. Aunt Minerva, of course insisted that she should. She has put them safely away and will never part with them again. But we take them out and look at them sometimes and think of all the strange and awful adventures they've been through and the curious chance that brought them together again.Always, after we've looked at them, Cecily asks me to play the "Träumerei." And while I play, she sits very quietly and says nothing, and her eyes have a far-away look. But I know what she is thinking about!
P. S. Did I tell you this before, I wonder? Cecily has both the bracelets now. Aunt Minerva, of course insisted that she should. She has put them safely away and will never part with them again. But we take them out and look at them sometimes and think of all the strange and awful adventures they've been through and the curious chance that brought them together again.
Always, after we've looked at them, Cecily asks me to play the "Träumerei." And while I play, she sits very quietly and says nothing, and her eyes have a far-away look. But I know what she is thinking about!
M.