The Collected Works of Augusta Huiell Seaman

"Indeed I don't! I'd be ten times worse, I guess. But what about the secret? And did you find out anything else?"

"Yes, I did. And that's the secret. The whole mysterious thing is in the secret, because no one but you knows I'm the least interested in the affair, and I don't want them to—now! I'll tell you what happened next."

But just at this moment they were interrupted by a knock at the door, and a voice inquiring:

"Girls, girls! haven't you gone to bed yet? I've heard you talking for the last hour."

"No, Aunt Minerva!" answered Marcia, "we are sitting by the window."

"Well, you must go to bed at once! It's nearly midnight. You won't either of you be fit for a thing to-morrow. Now, mind, not another word! Good-night!"

"Good-night!" they both answered, but heaved a sigh when Aunt Minerva was out of hearing.

[Pg 19]

"It's no use!" whispered Marcia. "We'll have to stop for to-night. But there's lots more, and the most interesting part of it, too. Well, never mind, I'll tell you all the rest to-morrow!"

[Pg 20]

CHAPTER II

THE FACE BEHIND THE SHUTTER

Janet had no sooner hopped out of bed next morning than she flew to the window to examine "Benedict's Folly" by broad daylight. In the streaming sun of a June morning the dingy old mansion certainly bore out the truth of Marcia's mysterious description.

"Gracious! I should think you would have been interested in it from the first!" she exclaimed.

"Interested in what?" yawned Marcia, sleepily, opening her eyes.

"'Benedict's Folly,' of course! Let's see," went on Janet, who possessed a very practical, orderly mind; "from your story last night it seems there must be two people living there—but look here! how did you know, Marcia, that it was another old lady you saw that night when the shutter blew open?"

[Pg 21]

"Why, for several reasons," answered Marcia. "In the first place, the one who goes out is short and slight. The one sitting in the chair was evidently large, and rather stout, and—and different, somehow, although I didn't see either of their faces. And then, it wasn't the lady in the chair who closed the shutter. She evidently never moved. So it must have been some one else."

"Yes, it must have been," agreed Janet, convinced. "Queer that nobody seems to know about the second one. I wonder who she is? And are there any more? Go on with your story, Marcia."

"No," said Marcia. "Wait till we can be by ourselves for a long while. I don't want to be interrupted. Aunt Minerva's going out this morning, and then we'll have a chance."

So, later in the morning, the two girls sat by Marcia's window, each occupied with a dainty bit of embroidery, and Marcia began anew:

"Well, after that rainy night, for several days I didn't see a thing more that was[Pg 22] interesting about the old house or the queer people who live in it. I used to watch once in a while to see if the little lady in black would go out again in the afternoon, as she did before, but she didn't. Then, a day or two later, I did something that surprised even myself, for I hadn't the faintest intention of doing it. I had been taking a walk that afternoon and was just coming home, passing on the way the high brick wall of the Benedict house. It was just as I reached the closed gate that an idea popped into my head.

"You know, they say that no visitors are ever admitted, and no rings or knocks at the gate are ever answered. Well, something suddenly prompted me to ring that bell and see what would happen. I never stopped to ask myself what I should say if some one came and inquired what I wanted. I just rang it suddenly (and I had to pull hard, the old thing was so rusty) and far away somewhere in the house I heard a faint tinkle.

"Then I got kind of panic-stricken, wondering what I'd say if any one did really come.[Pg 23] But I needn't have worried, for what do you suppose happened?"

"Nothing!" answered Janet, promptly.

"That's just where you're mistaken; but you'd never guess what it was. About a minute after I'd rung the bell, I heard light footsteps on the walk behind the gate. But, instead of coming toward the gate, they were hurrying away from it; and in another minute I heard the front door close. After that it was all quiet, and nothing else happened. Then I went on home."

"I know," interrupted Janet, whose quick mind had already worked out the problem, "exactly what occurred. It was Miss Benedict, who had been just about to come out on her way to do the marketing. And your ring frightened her, and sent her hurrying back into the house. Isn't it all singular!"

"Yes, that must have been it," agreed Marcia. "And it made me more curious than ever to understand about it. And I was so annoyed at myself for ringing at all. If I hadn't, I might have seen Miss Benedict close[Pg 24] by, when she came out of the gate. It served me right for doing such a thing, anyhow!

"But after that I got to watching, every time I went out, thinking I might see her on the street somewhere, especially if it was about the time she usually did her marketing—along toward dusk. Several days passed, however, and I never did. I had thought of watching from my window to see when she went out, and then following her. But that didn't seem right, somehow. It would be too much like spying on her. So I just concluded I'd trust to chance. And luck favored me at last, one morning, about a week after I'd rung her bell.

"It happened that the night before, Eliza suddenly discovered we were all out of oatmeal for breakfast, and I promised her I'd get some very early in the morning, when I went to take my walk. You know, I've found that on these warm summer days in the city it's much pleasanter to take a walk in the real early morning than to wait till later in the day, when it's crowded and hot. And I always used to[Pg 25] love walking in the early morning, up in Northam.

"Well, anyhow, I got up that day about six. I knew that no stores near here would be open so early, and I decided to walk over toward the other side of town. It's a sort of poor section there, and the stores often open up quite early, so that folks can do their marketing before they go to work. It was a beautiful, cool morning, and I was quite enjoying myself when—Jan, what do you think?—I looked up, and about half a block ahead of me was a little black figure with a market-basket, hurrying along. I knew it was Miss Benedict!

"Can you imagine my surprise—and delight? I suddenly made up my mind I'd keep behind her, and go into the same store she did. There could surely be no harm in that! And by and by I saw her turn into a little grocery-shop; and a minute or two after in I walked, went to the counter, and stood right near her. There was no one in the store beside ourselves and the grocer. He looked sleepy, and was yawning while he wrapped up something for her.[Pg 26] He asked me to 'Wait a minute, please!' which, of course, I was only too delighted to do, as it gave me a perfect right to stand close by my mysterious little neighbor and hear her speak.

"And it was right there, Janet, that I got the surprise of my life. She still wore her black veil, and it was so thick that not a bit of her face could be seen. Her dress was the most old-fashioned thing—it looked twenty years old, if not more. I don't know what sort of a voice I had expected to hear, but it was nothing in the least like what I did hear.

"I can't exactly describe it to you, Jan, but it was the most beautiful speaking voice I've ever heard in my life! It was soft, and flute-like, and so—so appealing! It somehow went straight to my heart. It made me feel as if I wanted to takecare of Miss Benedict, somehow, I can't exactly explain it. Even when she was speaking of such commonplace things as butter and eggs and sugar, it was like—like music!

"Well, in a few moments she had finished, and the grocer packed her things in her basket,[Pg 27] and she went away. I had to stay, of course, and get my oatmeal, and I didn't see her again. But being so close to her and hearing that lovely voice had changed my whole feeling about her. At first, I had just been interested and awfully curious about the whole mysterious affair, and, I'll confess, just a wee bit repelled by the account of the queer little lady and the strange way she lived. I wanted to know the explanation of the mystery, but I didn't particularly want to know her. But after that, I felt different,—sort of bewitched by that beautiful voice. I wanted to help that Miss Benedict. I wanted to do something for her, or try to make her happier, or—or something, I couldn't quite explain what. And I wanted—oh, so much!—to see her face, and know what she was like, and more about herself. Can you understand, Jan?"

"Indeed, I can. But do go on. Did you ever meet her again?"

"No, I didn't. But I've seen—and heard—something else that's strange, more strange than all the rest!"

[Pg 28]

"Tell me, quick!" demanded Janet.

"Two nights ago, I sat here by the window. It was too hot to turn on the light, but it was very dark outside. Presently I heard footsteps in the Benedict garden. They were light, quick footsteps, and sounded exactly as if some one were running about, or skipping and jumping. First I thought it must be a big dog, for it couldn't possibly have been either one of those two old ladies, running and skipping that way! And then I heard a soft humming, as if some one were singing a tune half under the breath. And then, very soon after, a door opened, and a voice called out, very softly, 'Come in, now!' And after that all was quiet. Now, Janet McNeil, I'm simply positive there's some one else in that house beside the two old ladies,—some one who hasn't been seen yet. What do you make of it?"

"You must be right," replied Janet, thoughtfully. "It couldn't be either of them running about in the garden in the dark and humming a tune. It isn't at all what they'd be likely[Pg 29] to do. I think it must be some one else, more—more human and natural, somehow. And younger, too. But what on earth do they all keep so shut up for, and act as if they were afraid to be seen! It's the queerest thing I ever heard of. You certainly have moved next door to a 'dark-brown mystery,' Marcia!"

For the ensuing hour the girls embroidered steadily and discussed "Benedict's Folly" and its inmates in all their peculiar phases. But, turn and twist it as they might, they could find no answer to the riddle. After a while, Janet changed the subject.

"By the way, Marcia, how are you coming on with your violin practice? Have you begun taking lessons here yet? You know that was one of the principal things you folks moved to the city for,—so that you could study with the best teachers."

"Yes, I've begun with Professor Hardwick," said Marcia, "and I've practised quite hard lately. It's about all I had to do. He says I've made some progress already."

"Oh, do get your violin and play some for[Pg 30] me!" begged Janet. "I'm just starving for some good music. I haven't heard any since you left Northam."

So Marcia obligingly went to the parlor and brought back her violin. When she had tuned it and tucked it lovingly under her chin, she sat down in the window-seat and ran her bow over the strings in a shower of liquid melody. For one so young she played astonishingly well. Janet listened, breathless, absorbed.

"Marcia dear, you have improved!" she exclaimed, as her chum stopped for a moment. "Now do play my favorite!" Marcia laid her bow on the strings once more, and slipped into the tender reverie of the "Träumerei." But before it was half finished, Janet, wide-eyed with astonishment, laid her hand on Marcia's arm.

"Look!" she breathed. Marcia followed the direction of her gaze, and turned to stare out of the window at the house opposite. And this is what she saw:

The shutter of a window on the top floor had been pushed partly open, and a face looked[Pg 31] out,—a face with big, appealing eyes, and a frame of golden, curling hair falling all about it. Straight over at the two in the window it gazed, eager, absorbed, delighted. And then suddenly, as it detected their own interested stare, it withdrew, and the shutter was softly closed.

The two girls drew a long breath and gazed at each other.

"Janet,—what did I tell you! There is some one else in that house!" cried Marcia.

"I guess you're right!" admitted Janet, quieter, but no less excited. "But do you realize who that third person is, Marcia Brett? It isn't an old lady; it's some one just about our own age—it's a young girl!"

[Pg 32]

CHAPTER III

THE GATE OPENS

For the two ensuing days, Marcia and Janet, tense with excitement, discussed the most recently discovered inmate of "Benedict's Folly," and watched incessantly for another glimpse of the face behind the shutter. How was it, they constantly demanded of each other, that a girl of fourteen or fifteen had come to be shut up in the dreary old place? Was she a prisoner there? Was she a relative, friend, or servant? Was she free to come and go?

To the latter question they unanimously voted "No!" How could she be aught else but a prisoner when she was never seen going in or out, was forced to take her exercise after nightfall in the dark garden, and was kept constantly[Pg 33] behind closed shutters? No girl of that age in her right mind could deliberately choose a life like that!

"Do you suppose she has always lived there?" queried Marcia, for the twentieth time. And as Janet could answer it no better than herself, she propounded another question:

"And why do you suppose she opened the shutter and looked out, seeming so delighted, when I played, and then drew in again so quickly when we noticed her? Is she afraid of being seen, too?"

"Evidently," said Janet. "She must be as full of mystery as the rest of them. And yet—I can't, somehow, feel that she is like them; she's so sweet and young and—oh, you know what I mean!"

Of course she knew, but it didn't help them in the least to solve this latest phase of their mystery. Finally Marcia, who still clung a bit shyly to the fairy lore of her earlier years, declared:

"I believe she's a regular Cinderella, kept[Pg 34] there to do all the hard work of the place by those queer old ladies, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if she's down in the kitchen this minute, cleaning out the ashes of the stove! Come, Jan, let's go for a walk, and when we come back I'll play on the violin by the window. Maybe our little Cinderella will peep out again!"

The two girls put on their hats and strolled out for their usual afternoon walk and treat of ice-cream soda. But they had gone no farther from their own door than the length of the Benedict brick wall when they were suddenly brought to a halt in front of the closed gate by hearing a sound on the other side of it. It was a sound indicative of some one's struggling attempt to open it—the click of a key turning and turning in the lock and the futile rattling of the iron knob. And then the sound of a voice murmuring:

"Oh, dear! What shall I do? I can't get this open!"

"Janet," whispered Marcia, "that's not the voice of Miss Benedict! I know it! I believe[Pg 35] it's Cinderella, and she's trying to run away! What shall we do—stay here?"

"No," Janet whispered back. "Let's just stroll on a little way, and then turn back. We can see what happens then without seeming to be watching."

They walked on quickly for a number of yards, and then turned to approach the gate again. Even as they did so they saw it open, and out stepped a little figure.

It was not Miss Benedict! The slim, trim little girlish form was clad in plain dark clothes of a slightly unfamiliar cut. But the face was the one that had appeared in the upper window, and the thick golden curls were surmounted by a black velvet tam-o'-shanter. On her arm she carried a small market-basket, and her eyes had a bewildered, almost frightened, look.

In their excited interest Marcia and Janet had, quite unconsciously, stopped short where they were and waited to see which way their Cinderella would turn. But though they stood so for an appreciable moment, she turned[Pg 36] neither way, and only stood, her back to the gate, gazing uncertainly to the right and left. And then, perceiving them, she seemed to take a sudden resolution, and turned to them appealingly.

"Oh, please, could you direct me how to find this?" she asked, holding out a slip of paper. Marcia hurried to her side and read the written address. And when she had read it, she realized that it was the little grocery-shop on the other side of town where she had once encountered Miss Benedict.

"Why, certainly!" she cried. "You walk over five blocks in that direction, then turn to your left and down three. You can't miss it; it's right next to a shoemaker's place."

The child looked more bewildered than ever, and her eyes strayed to the busy street-crossing near which they stood, crowded with hurrying trucks and automobiles.

"Thank you!" she faltered. "Do I go this way?" And then, with sudden candor, "You see, I'm strange in these streets." Her voice was clear and pretty, but her accent markedly[Pg 37] un-American. Both girls half consciously noted it.

"See here," said Marcia; "would you care to have us take you there? We're not going in any special direction, and I've been there before."

An infinitely relieved expression came over the girl's face. "Oh, would you be so kind? I'm just—just scared to death on these streets!"

They turned to accompany her, one on each side, and piloted her safely across the busy avenue. Then, in the quiet stretch of the next block, they proceeded together in complete and embarrassing silence.

It was a silence that Marcia and Janet had fully expected their companion to break—possibly to reveal some reason for her errand and her strangeness in the streets. They themselves hesitated to say much, for fear of seeming curious or anxious to force her confidence. But she said not a word. The strain at last became too much for Janet.

"I don't blame you for feeling nervous in[Pg 38] these city streets," she began. "I'm a country girl myself, and I act like a scared rabbit whenever I go out alone here." The girl turned to her with a little confiding gesture.

"I've never been out in them alone before," she said. Then there was another silence during which Marcia and Janet both searched frantically in their minds for something else to say. But it was the girl herself who broke the silence the second time.

"Thank you for your music the other day," she said, turning to Marcia. "I heard you. I often hear you and listen."

"Oh, I'm so glad you liked it!" cried Marcia. "Do you care for music?"

"I adore it," she replied simply.

"Look here!" exclaimed Marcia, suddenly; "how did you know it was I that played the violin?"

"Because I've watched you often—through the slats!"

Marcia and Janet exchanged glances. So the watching was not all on their side of the fence! Here was a revelation!

[Pg 39]

"That last thing you played the other day—will you—will you tell me what it was?" went on their new companion, shyly.

"Why, that was Schumann's 'Träumerei,'" answered Marcia. "I love it, don't you?"

"Yes but I never heard it before; that is, I never remember hearing it, and yet—somehow I seemed to know it. I can't think why. I don't understand. It's as if I'd dreamed it, I think."

Marcia and Janet again exchanged glances. What a strange child this was, who talked of having "dreamed" music that was quite familiar to almost every one.

"Perhaps you heard it at a concert," suggested Janet.

"I never went to a concert," she replied, much to their amazement. And then, perceiving their surprise, she added:

"You see, I've always lived 'way off in the country, in just a little village—till now."

"Oh—yes," answered Janet, pretending enlightenment, though in truth she and Marcia were more bewildered than ever.

[Pg 40]

But by this time they had reached the little grocery-shop, and all proceeded inside while their new friend made her purchases. These she read off slowly from a slip of paper, and the grocer packed them in her basket. But when it came to paying for them and making change, she became entangled in a fresh puzzle.

"I think you said these eggs were a shilling?" she ventured to the grocer.

"Shilling—no! I said they were a quarter," he retorted impatiently.

"A quarter?" she queried, and turned questioning eyes to her two friends.

"He means this," said Marcia, picking out a twenty-five-cent piece from the change the girl held.

"Oh, thank you! I don't understand this American money," she explained. And Marcia and Janet added another query to their rapidly growing mental list.

On the way back home, however, she grew silent again, and though the girls chatted back and forth about quite impersonal matters,—the crowded streets, the warm weather, the[Pg 41] sights they passed,—she was not to be drawn into the conversation. And the nearer they drew to their destination, the more depressed she appeared to become. At last they reached the gate.

"Shall you be going out again to-morrow?" ventured Marcia. "If so, we will go with you, if you care to have us, till you get used to the streets."

The girl gave her a sudden, pleased glance. "I—I don't know," she said. "You see, Miss Benedict hurt her ankle a day or two ago, and she can't get around much, so—so I'm doing this for her. If she wants me to go to-morrow, I will. I'd beso glad to go with you. How shall I let you know?"

"Just hang a white handkerchief to your shutter before you go, and we'll see it. We'll watch for it!" cried Marcia, inventing the signal on the spur of the moment. And then, impetuously, she added:

"My name is Marcia Brett, and this is Janet McNeil. Won't you tell us yours, if we're to be friends?"

[Pg 42]

"I'm Cecily Marlowe," she answered, "and I'm so glad to know you." As she spoke she was fumbling with the big key in the lock of the gate, and as the latter swung open, she turned once more to face them, with a little pent-up sob: "I don't know why I'm here—and I'm so lonely!" Then, frightened at having revealed so much, she turned quickly away and shut the gate.

As they listened to her footsteps retreating up the path and the closing of the front door Marcia and Janet turned to each other, a thousand questions burning on their tongues. But all they could exclaim in one breath was:

"Did you ever!"

[Pg 43]

CHAPTER IV

THE BACKWARD GLANCE

The next twenty-four hours were spent in delightful speculation. So her name was Cecily Marlowe! Was she any relation of Miss Benedict? "Marlowe" and "Benedict" were certainly dissimilar enough.

"But then she might be a relation on Miss Benedict's mother's side," suggested Marcia.

"Does it sound likely when you think what she said just at the last—that she didn't know why she was there?" replied Janet, scornfully. "She couldn't be in doubt about it if she were a, either come on a visit or there to stay!" Which argument settledquestion.

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!