Back Aa

Girl Next Door

<h3>FOR THE SAKE OF CECILY</h3> "What can it mean?" muttered Janet. "What does she want of us?" "Why, it's perfectly plain," declared Marcia. "She has discovered that we have been trying to correspond with Cecily, and she's going to demand an explanation—probably warn us that we must stop it. Are you—afraid to go, Janet?" "Not I! Why should I be? Miss Benedict can't do or say a thing to harm us! But I am anxious for poor little Cecily. I just hate to think we may have brought trouble on her." "Oh, I wish now we'd never suggested such a thing!" moaned Marcia. "We've just succeeded in making that poor little thing miserable, I suppose." "Well, we can only remember that we meant[Pg 95] to make her happy, and we did—for a while, at least," comforted Janet. "And what's more, I'm not going to worry about it another bit to-night. Maybe it's something entirely different, anyway." Marcia, however, could not bring herself to this cheerful view of things. All night long she tossed beside the sleeping Janet, wondering and wondering about what the coming interview might mean, and blaming herself a thousand times for placing Cecily in the position of having deceived her guardian. When morning came she was pale and heavy-eyed, which alarmed her aunt not a little. "You ought not go out this morning, Marcia," remarked Miss Minerva, anxiously. "The sun is very hot, and you look as if you had a headache." "Oh, no, I haven't, Aunty!" cried Marcia, eagerly, fearful of a hitch in their plans. "I didn't sleep very well, but a walk in the fresh air will do me good, I know." And so Miss Minerva saw them go, without further protest. [Pg 96] They both halted at the gate in the brick wall and looked into each other's eyes. The hot morning sun beat down upon them as they stood there, and passers-by eyed them curiously. Each was perfectly certain that the thumping of her heart could be heard. And still they stood, hesitating. "You're afraid!" accused Janet. "I'm—not!" protested Marcia. "And I'll prove it!" She raised her hand suddenly—and pulled the rusty bell-handle. It seemed a long, long time before there was any response. But at last they heard the click of the opening front door and the sound of footsteps on the path. This was followed by the creaking of a key turning in the lock of the gate. Janet gripped Marcia by the hand, and with pounding hearts they stood together, while the gate slowly opened. In another instant, the veiled, black-gowned figure of Miss Benedict stood before them. She waited a moment, silent, appearing to look them over critically. "Come in, if you please!" she said at last,[Pg 97] very softly, and held the gate open for them. They entered obediently, and she shut the gate. It was not until they were inside the house, standing in the dim hall with the front door closed behind them, that another word was spoken. Then Miss Benedict faced them again, but she did not remove her bonnet or throw back her veil. "I have asked you to come here this morning," she began, "because I understand that you have become acquainted with the child Cecily Marlowe." Cold chills ran up and down their spines. It had come at last! "Yes," faltered Janet, "we—we have become acquainted with her." It was not a brilliant reply, but, for the life of her, she could think of nothing else to say. They waited, shuddering, for what might be coming next. "So she has told me," went on Miss Benedict. "I also understand that lately you have been dropping notes to her into the garden—at night." Janet noticed, even in the midst of her[Pg 98] trepidation, how wonderfully sweet and soft and harmonious the voice was. "Yes," replied Marcia, very low, "we have." The worst was out—now let the blow fall! They braced themselves to receive it. "Cecily is ill!" said Miss Benedict, abruptly. They each uttered a startled little "Oh!" "She has not been at all well for over a week," the lovely voice continued. "I am very much worried about her." Janet and Marcia glanced into each other's eyes in astonishment. Cecily ill—and Miss Benedict actually caring about it! Here were surprises indeed! "Oh, I hope it's nothing serious!" exclaimed Marcia, anxiously. "I hope it is not—and I think it is probably only the hot weather and—and want of exercise." Miss Benedict hesitated a little over the last. "She has been so—poorly, and has—has evidently been so anxious to—to see you, that I thought I would—surprise her by asking you to come and—visit her a while." It[Pg 99] was plainly a struggle for Miss Benedict to make this seem the natural, normal thing to do. "Will you—come up to her room?" The girls were almost too stunned at the turn events had taken to reply. "Why—we'd be glad to," faltered Marcia, at last. "Then, if you will follow me—" Miss Benedict led the way, through the dark halls and up three pairs of stairs. At the door of a room on the fourth floor she paused, knocked, and then entered. They followed, dimly perceiving a little form in the bed, for the shutters, of course, were closed. As they entered after Miss Benedict Cecily sprang to a sitting posture, with a cry of mingled wonder, consternation, and joy. She, too, glanced uncertainly at Miss Benedict. "I have asked your friends to come and—and see you for a while," she explained hesitatingly to the bewildered child. "Perhaps it will make you—feel better." Then she turned abruptly and went out of the room, closing the door after her. [Pg 100] For a moment they stared at one another. "Cecily!" cried Janet, at length, "what does this all mean, anyway?" "I never dreamed of such a thing as seeing you—here!" faltered the invalid. "What made her do it?" demanded Marcia. "We found a note from her tied to our string. How did she know about it?" Cecily seemed to shrink back at this piece of news. "I told her, myself," she said. "I was very sick one night—I think I had a fever. My head was so hot and ached so. And she was—oh! so good to me! I could hardly believe it! She bathed my head, and sat by me, and put her cool hands on my forehead. It really seemed as if she—cared! And I felt so ashamed to think I'd—disobeyed her that I just told her right out all about it—how lonely I'd been, and how good you were to me, and how I'd enjoyed hearing from you." "And what did she say?" breathed Marcia, in an awe-struck whisper. "Not a word except, 'Never mind now, little girl!' And she never said a thing more[Pg 101] about it. I didn't dream that she'd ever do such a thing as send for you to come and see me!" They marveled over it all a moment in silence. Then Marcia burst out: "Oh, Cecily, we've been so worried about you! We couldn't think why you didn't even take the letters any more. Have you been very ill?" "Why, I don't know—I just feel horrid most of the time. My head aches a lot, and every once in a while I'm awfully cold, and then I seem to be burning up—" "Why, I believe you must have malaria!" interrupted Marcia. "That's what Aunt Minerva has sometimes. You ought to go out more, and have fresh air and—sunshine—" She stopped suddenly, remembering the conditions. "But anyway, it isn't serious," she hurried on, after an embarrassed pause. "And you ought to have some quinine. I wonder if Miss Benedict would let us get it for you. I'll ask her, later." Then they hurried on to tell her how they had continued to[Pg 102] send down a note every night, hoping that she would get it, and how they had feared that she might have gone away. And Cecily, in return, told them how she had enjoyed the notes and gifts, but how guilty she had always felt about receiving them, especially when she had answered them. "And I finished embroidering the boudoir-cap," she ended, "and—and I gave it to Miss Benedict." "You did?" they both gasped. "Oh, I hope you don't mind!" exclaimed Cecily, hastily; "but—but I felt as if I wanted to do something for her. She—I—I think I'm getting to like her—more and more." "What did she say?" asked Marcia. "Was she pleased? I can't imagine her wearing such a thing." "She looked at it and then at me—very strangely for a minute. Then she said: 'Thank you, child. I—I never wear such things, but I'll keep it—for your sake!'" "Isn't that queer!" exclaimed Janet. "You thought she cared nothing about you!" [Pg 103] "Yes," agreed Cecily; "but lately—I'm not so sure." In the pause that followed, the girls glanced curiously about the darkened room, trying to realize that they were actually inside the mysterious house at last. It was a large, square room, furnished with heavy chairs and an old-fashioned bureau and bed. Every shutter was fastened and the slats tightly closed. Only the dimmest daylight filtered in. The effect was gloomy and depressing to the last degree. They wondered how Cecily had stood it so long. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/ill_006.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="399" alt="" /> "I'm going to ask Miss Benedict if we can't open these shutters," cried Janet, suddenly</div> "I'm going to ask Miss Benedict if we can't open these shutters," cried Janet, suddenly. "I should think you'd die of this gloom. It's really bad for you, Cecily!" "Oh, don't!" exclaimed Cecily, in consternation. "I asked her once, when I first came, and she didn't like it at all! She said no, she preferred to have them shut, and I must not touch them." "I don't care!" went on Janet, ruthlessly. "You weren't sick then. I'm sure she'd let you now!" And, true to her word, she turned[Pg 104] to Miss Benedict, who entered at this moment, still bonneted and veiled. "I believe Cecily has malaria, Miss Benedict," she began bravely, but with inward trepidation. "Oh, do you think so? Is it serious?" The melodious voice sounded startled and concerned. "I don't think it's so serious," Janet continued, "but she'd probably get over it quicker if she had a lot of fresh air and sunshine. Couldn't she have the shutters open? It would do her lots of good." Cecily and Marcia trembled at Janet's temerity and watched Miss Benedict with bated breath. But instead of being annoyed, she only seemed surprised and relieved. "Why, do you think so?" she queried. "Then—surely they may be opened. I—I do not like the—the glare of so much daylight myself, but Cecily may have it here, if she chooses." And following up her words, she pushed open one of the shutters. A broad shaft of sunlight streamed in, and, blinking[Pg 105] [Pg 106] [Pg 107] from the previous gloom, Janet and Marcia threw open the others. Cecily gave a delighted cry, "Oh, how lovely it is to see the sun again!" But Miss Benedict, with an abrupt exclamation, retreated hastily from the room. The girls stayed a few moments more, chatting. Then they wisely suggested that perhaps they had better go, and not tire Cecily by too long a call. Hearing Miss Benedict's footstep in the hall below, they took their leave, promising to come again, as soon as it seemed best. On the landing of the stairway they found the black-veiled figure apparently waiting for them. Now, during all the strange little interview, a curious impression had been growing upon Janet, strengthened by every word Miss Benedict had uttered—an impression that here was no grim, forbidding jailor, such as they had imagined the mistress of "Benedict's Folly" to be. Instead, they had encountered a gentle, almost winning, little person, worried about the illness of the child in her care and plainly[Pg 108] anxious to do everything suggested to make her more comfortable. Janet suddenly resolved on a bold move. "Cecily is so lonely," she began, turning to Miss Benedict. "Don't you think it would do her lots of good to come in and visit us once in a while? Marcia's aunt would be so glad to see her. As soon as she is a little better, can't she—" "No," interrupted Miss Benedict, her little figure suddenly stiffening and a determined note creeping into her soft voice. "I am sorry. Cecily cannot make visits. It is out of the question!" It was like striking a hidden rock in a smooth, beautiful sheet of water. And her words admitted of no argument. Janet and Marcia followed her meekly and in silence down to the front door. Here, in an uncertain pause, Marcia made one further suggestion. "May we bring Cecily some quinine?" she ventured. "If she has malaria, she ought to have that. We have lots of it at home." [Pg 109] "It would be very kind of you," replied Miss Benedict, in an entirely different tone. "Come to-morrow and see her again—if your aunt will permit it. Perhaps it would be well to explain to her—" and here her manner became confused—"that—I—er—do not make calls or—or receive them, but this is just—just for the sake of the child." It was plain to the girls that this admission was wrung from her only by a great effort. She opened the front door and followed them to the gate. When she had unlocked it, Marcia turned to her impulsively. "Thank you so much for letting us come! We are very, very fond of Cecily. She is such a dear, and we've been terribly worried about her. As a relative, I'm afraid you have been still more anxious." The black figure started. "She is no relative of mine!" came abruptly from behind the veil. "Oh, I beg your pardon, I should say—friend," stuttered Marcia, embarrassed, "or—or the daughter of a friend, perhaps." [Pg 110] "She is not," Miss Benedict contradicted, in a strange, flat tone, as if repeating a lesson. "I do not know who she is—nor why she is here!" <hr class="chap" />[Pg 111] <h2>CHAPTER X</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.