SIX MONTHS LATER
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 than managing 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 Alixe _and_ Aunt 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 can be 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 for
_her_. 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 "Traeumerei"--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, insignificant _me_--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 is _magnificent_
looking--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 "Traeumerei." 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 "Traeumerei" 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 for the second time, what _do_ you suppose happened?
She opened her eyes, looked over at Miss Alixe, and _spoke_, 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:
[Illustration: "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 of
_her_ as she is of Miss Alixe. Next summer the whole family is
going with us to spend two months in Northam (Aunt Minerva's
doings 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 we _did_ toward 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 on _us_!
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
"Traeumerei." 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.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Girl Next Door, by Augusta Huiell Seaman