Claire and Rosanna lingered after the meeting, talking with the Captain
and Mrs. Horton, but presently Colonel Maslin came for them, and they
said good-night and went away, Rosanna feeling as though she was doing
something quite out of the way and rather dreadful in going off with
another girl at that time of night. It must have been at least nine!
The two girls sat with the Colonel while he ate the lunch set before him
by the Chinaman--a cracker and a glass of buttermilk it was--and then
they said good-night and went laughing upstairs to Claire's
sitting-room. In the pretty bed-room Rosanna found her clothes laid out
neatly and the two took off their trim Scout uniforms and slipped into
comfy kimonos.
Rosanna found that when Claire was not brooding, she was as gay and
bright as any girl, and happiness transformed her face into a beautiful,
glowing countenance that made Rosanna happy just to look at it.
"I wish you always felt like this," she said after a funny story of
Claire's had sent her into gales of laughter.
"Like what?" demanded Claire quickly.
Rosanna was sorry that she had spoken. "Why, so jolly and merry," she
said.
The cloud settled over Claire's face again.
"Perhaps I should not have said that, dear Claire," continued Rosanna
gently, "but you don't know just how you _do_ look a good deal of the
time."
Claire shot a quick glance at her, and then looked away. "How do I
look?" she asked abruptly. "I thought I looked like most every girl."
"Well, you don't," said Rosanna. She studied the beautiful, unhappy face
of her friend, finding trouble in choosing her words. "It is hard for me
to tell you just how you look, only it hurts me when I see it."
"Try to tell me," urged Claire as though the subject interested her
deeply.
Rosanna floundered on.
"I don't know just how to explain to you, but you seem to be listening
to something that I cannot hear, and way down deep in the bottom of your
eyes there is a horror."
As Rosanna spoke, looking full at Claire, she trembled to see the horror
leap from the depths of those jade green eyes and blaze out.
"Why, what is it? What can it be?" she stammered, clasping Claire in her
warm arms. "Oh, dear Claire, there _is_ something that frightens you!
Tell me what it is. Does your father know? Oh, Claire, we are both
Scouts; let me help you!"
For a long moment Claire seemed not to breathe. She did not move. Then
with a gasping sigh, she gently unclasped Rosanna's arms and stood up.
She commenced slowly to unbraid her red hair. She did not speak, and in
silence Rosanna watched the gleaming, shining masses, released from
their prim daytime fashion, fall like a royal garment around Claire's
shoulders. Far below her waist hung the rippling locks. Claire inclined
her head as though she wished to hide herself and her troubles beneath
that veil. Then suddenly, proudly she flung up her head and looked
straight at Rosanna with cold, level eyes.
"No one can help me," she said quietly. "I will not deny that there _is_
something that troubles me, but that is all that I can tell you. I am
sorry I have let you see this much. I could tell you if I were any other
girl, but I cannot."
"I only want to help you, dear Claire," said Rosanna. "I hope that you
feel as though you can trust me."
"Indeed I do," protested Claire, her eyes filling with tears. "I never
have trusted _any_ girl so much."
"Then that is all right," said Rosanna, with her sweet smile. "I just
want you to promise me one thing and that is that if ever you feel as
though you wanted to tell anyone, or if you feel as though anyone could
help you, I want you to come to me."
"I will indeed promise that," said Claire, "but I do not think that that
time will ever come. I _want_ to tell you, but I cannot. And no one on
earth can help me."
"I don't believe I would say that, Claire," said Rosanna musingly. "You
never _can_ tell just who can help you until the time comes when you
need help, and then there it is, just as though you had called for it."
"I shall not call," smiled Claire stubbornly. "And please, Rosanna, let
us talk of other things."
Rosanna brightly changed the conversation.
"What I am crazy to talk about is, whatever is it you are putting on?"
"This?" asked Claire, holding out a fold of the gorgeous embroidered
garment she had slipped on. "It is a Mandarin coat; a real one. A real
Mandarin gave it to me. I was quite a little girl. It was while daddy
was stationed in China, and he and mother had a great many friends among
the really high-class Chinese.
"When we came away, the Mandarin sent a box by a half-dozen bearers. It
was a sort of chest with trays. There was a wonderful robe for mother
made of silk as shimmery and delicate as a cobweb. It is crusted with
gold embroidery and there are tiny shoes to match. Then there was a set
of real jade--hair ornaments, a necklace, pins, and this ring."
"I have noticed it," said Rosanna. "It is too lovely! And it is lovely
of your mother to let you wear it until she gets well."
Claire was silent for a moment, then went on: "In a lower tray there was
this robe for me, and dozens of the most wonderful toys and playthings
such as the royal children in China have, and which we over here never
see. Everything but this coat is packed away. Dad says the toys are most
of them really museum pieces, they are so beautiful and so rare."
"You ought to save them for your children," said Rosanna.
"When I grow up I shall give them to the Institute in Washington,"
Claire said with a frown. "That is the place for them."
Rosanna shook her head. "You are more generous than I could be," she
laughed. "What else was there in the chest?"
"Something queer; as queer as China itself," said Claire. "All wrapped
up in my Mandarin coat was a package with my name written on it. We
opened the wrapper and found a little case or casket sealed up tight
with wax and bearing the impression of the Mandarin's signet ring. There
is an inscription on the box. Chinese, of course, but daddy could read
it. It said, 'Some far day, one will give you a gift beyond all price.
Give them, in return, this casket as a token of your gratitude and
mine.'"
"What was in it?" asked Rosanna breathlessly.
"Why, we don't know," said Claire. "It was sealed, as I said, and I must
not break it, of course. I suppose the curious thing will go to the
museum, too, because no one will give me a gift 'beyond price.'"
"Oh, Claire, _don't_ be so unbelieving! You don't know what might
happen," cried Rosanna. "I never heard anything so exciting and so
mysterious! What do you suppose is in the box?"
"I can't guess," said Claire. "I shook it, but nothing rattled. It is in
a safe deposit vault. Perhaps it is just the box, because that is gold
and perfectly beautiful."
"How large is it?" asked Rosanna.
"About like that," said Claire, measuring off a space the size of a
commercial envelope.
"Well, I think I never heard anything so mysterious and exciting. I
should think you would just go around waiting to have someone give you
some wonderful present just so you could have the fun of giving them the
box so you could see what is inside."
"Dad says there is a catch about it somewhere, that people like
ourselves do not go around giving presents beyond price and that it is
exactly like a Chinaman to do something like that. The box, I mean. All
sorts of queer things happen in China."
"Tell me some more about what you did over there," begged Rosanna. "I
suppose we ought to go to bed, but I am so excited that I don't feel as
though I could ever sleep again."
So, curling up in a big chair, Claire told Rosanna stories of the
strange, mysterious East. Rosanna, thinking how very, very soon she too
would see that strange side of the world, sat shivering with delight.
Claire talked on and on. She was a good story-teller and everything was
as clear and real as though they were wandering hand and hand down those
strange and ancient ways.
Then Claire skipped lightly out of China into Honolulu, and thrilled
Rosanna with pictures of that fairy island of Hawaii. Rosanna forgot
China, forgot the mysterious box as though they had been wiped quite
neatly out of her mind.
"Oh, I'm CRAZY to go there!" she cried finally. "It must be _too_
lovely!"
"It is," declared Claire, and started off on a description of the
wonderful bathing at Wakiki, when:
"Well, well, what's this?" rumbled in the door.
Both girls shrieked and jumped and stared wildly at Colonel Maslin,
standing in the doorway.
"And I told the little Captain that I would take good care of her girl
if she could come over here to visit Claire," he said, shaking his head.
"I don't see how I am going to explain this. Of course, I will have to
'fess up and what she won't do to me--"
"She won't mind for once," said Rosanna. "It will be grandmother who
will mind. She always minds dreadfully when I stay up late."
"And I am awfully afraid of your grandmother," declared Colonel Maslin.
"I will protect you," Rosanna promised, laughing.
"You will both protect me by hopping into bed this minute," said the
Colonel. "In exactly two minutes I will return and put out the light,
and I want to see both girls with their eyes tight shut and fast
asleep." He turned and left the room and when he entered again the red
head and the black were snuggled down, each in her soft pillow, and two
pairs of eyes were tight shut, nor did they open when he dropped a light
kiss on each round cheek and tiptoed out.
Rosanna fell into a restless sleep, filled with fantastic visions and
presently she awoke. For a little she could not place herself. The
feeling of a strange bed confused her. Then she heard a queer muffled
sound, and sat up quietly. It did not come from the twin bed beside her
own. She reached cautiously over and touched the spread. Claire was not
lying there. The muffled sobs were farther away. Rosanna's eyes grew
accustomed to the darkness and she could make out a blur of white lying
near the window on the dark rug. Claire was lying there on the rug, and
Claire was crying; crying as though her heart was broken. Rosanna's
firm little jaw set itself still more firmly. She slid from her bed and
ran across the room. As she approached the sorrowing girl she breathed
softly:
"Claire, dear, dear Claire, I cannot stand it! You need not tell me why
you are so sad if you do not want to, but you must, _must_ let me love
you and comfort you."
The touch of Rosanna's tender arms, the loving kiss, and her heartfelt
words seemed to break down Claire's icy reserve. To Rosanna's surprise
and relief, she turned, wound her arms around Rosanna's neck, and
whispered brokenly:
"Oh, Rosanna, I _will_ tell you! I _must_ tell someone or I will die!"
"Of course, you must tell me," soothed Rosanna. "Come away from this
cold place first."
"No, no! I want to lie right here!" cried Claire.
"Why, of course you don't, dear," said Rosanna. "Please! Make believe I
am your really truly sister tonight, as well as your Scout sister, and
let's get into my bed and you can cuddle close and tell me all about
it."
Claire commenced to sob again, but Rosanna tenderly coaxed her into bed
and clasped her tight.
Claire did not speak; she lay in Rosanna's arms sobbing as though her
heart were broken.
Rosanna did not speak, and at last Claire controlled herself.
"I was sure you were sound asleep," she said, "or I would have gone down
into the study, but I hate to go around the house in the night. It
frightens me."
"I should think it would," said Rosanna, staring into the dark and
hugging Claire closer.
"But I get to thinking and I can't sleep. I suppose that is why I am so
much paler than most of the girls. I am awake so much, because I am too
unhappy to sleep."
"But that is all wrong," said Rosanna. "Why are you so unhappy, Claire?"
"Can't you guess, Rosanna?"
"Is it your mother?" asked Rosanna.
Claire shivered violently. "Yes," she breathed.
"Oh, Claire!" said Rosanna, her own tears wetting Claire's forehead.
"Oh, Claire, is it as bad as that? Is your mother so _dreadfully_ ill? I
thought she just had nervous prostration or something like that. That is
what most people have, isn't it? I am so sorry! So dreadfully sorry!
Perhaps there is a mistake. Sometimes doctors think people are awfully
sick and going to--going to die, and then they get well as ever."
Claire laughed a sudden, jangling, harsh laugh that frightened Rosanna
more than her sobs. She turned her lips close to Rosanna's ear, as
though she hated to breathe aloud the words she struggled to utter.
"Mother is not going to die," she said finally. "She is insane!"