THE GREAT ILLUMINATION
The next morning the two girls met, as though absolutely nothing
unpleasant had happened. These little differences were, as a fact, of
frequent occurrence, and neither of them ever cherished the least grudge
toward the other when they were over. Not a word was said in reference
to it by either, but Cynthia noticed Joyce looking at her rather
curiously several times. Finally she asked:
"What are you staring at me so for, Joyce?"
"Oh, nothing! I wasn't staring," Joyce replied, and began to talk of
something else.
"By the way, Cyn, why wouldn't it be a good idea to wait till next week
before we have our illumination? Perhaps we could get more candles by
that time, too. I vote for next Saturday instead of to-day."
"I can't see why you want to wait," replied Cynthia. "To-day is just as
good a time as any. In fact, I think it's better. Something might happen
that would entirely prevent it next week. No, let's have it to-day. My
heart is set on it."
"Very well then," assented Joyce. "But, do you know, I believe, if this
time is a success, we might have it again next Saturday, too."
"Well, you can have it if you like, and if you can raise the money for
candles," laughed Cynthia; "but you mustn't depend on me. I'll be
'cleaned out' by that time!"
That morning they carefully dusted the drawing-room and library of the
Boarded-up House.
"We'll put the candles in the drawing-room, in the big candelabrum. That
will take about forty--and we'll have enough for the library too," said
Cynthia, planning the campaign. "And the rest of the candles we'll put
in the 'locked-up room.' Let's go right up there now and dust it!"
"Oh, what do you want to light _that_ room for!" cried Joyce. "Don't
let's go in there. It makes me blue--even to think of it!" But Cynthia
was obdurate.
"I want it lit up!" she announced. "If you don't feel like going up,
I'll go myself. I don't mind. But I want candles there!"
"Oh, if you insist, of course I'll go! But really, Cynthia, I don't
quite understand you to-day. You want to do such queer things!"
"I don't see anything _queer_ about that!" retorted Cynthia, blushing
hotly. "It just seemed--somehow--appropriate!"
But Joyce, in spite of her protests, accompanied Cynthia up the tiny,
cramped stairway, the entrance to which they had not blocked by
restoring the book-shelves.
"What a strange thing it is,--this secret stairway!" she marveled aloud.
"I'm sure it _is_ a secret stairway, and that it was long unused, even
before Mrs. Collingwood left here. I even feel pretty certain that she
never knew it was here."
"How do you figure that out?" questioned Cynthia.
"Well, in several ways. For one thing, because it was all closed up and
papered over. That could have been done before she came here, and you
know she only lived in this house eighteen years. But mainly because
there wouldn't have been much sense in her locking up the room (if she
_did_ lock it) had she known there was another easy way of getting into
it. No, I somehow don't think she knew!"
They did their dusting in the locked-up room, and tried to make it look
as ship-shape as possible, carefully avoiding, however, the vicinity of
the desk. Cynthia arranged six candles in holders, ready to light, and
they went down stairs again to arrange the others,--a task that was
accomplished with some difficulty, as the candelabrum was rather high,
and they were obliged to stand on chairs. At last all was ready and they
hurried home to luncheon, agreeing to meet at two for the "great
illumination"!
When they returned that afternoon, Cynthia had smuggled over the
gas-lighter, which they found a boon indeed in lighting so many candles
at such a height. When every tongue of flame was sparkling softly, the
girls stepped back to admire the result.
"Isn't it the prettiest thing you ever saw?" cried Joyce in an ecstasy
of admiration. "It beats a Christmas-tree all hollow! I've always heard
that candle-light was the loveliest of all artificial illumination, and
now I believe it. Just see how this room is positively transformed! We
never _saw_ those pictures properly before."
"Now it looks as it did fifty years ago," said Cynthia, softly. "Of
course, houses _were_ lighted by gas then, but only city ones or those
near the city. I know, because I've been asking about it. Other people
had to use horrid oil-lamps. But there were _some_ who kept on having
candles because they preferred that kind of light--especially in
country-houses. And evidently this was one of them."
Joyce eyed her curiously.
"You've certainly been interested in the question of illumination, half
a century ago,--but _why_, Cynthia? I never knew you to go so deeply
into anything of this kind before!" Cynthia started, and blushed again.
"Do you think so," she stammered. "Oh, well!--it's only because
this--this house has taken hold of me--somehow. I can't get it out of my
mind, day or night!"
"Yes," cried Joyce, "and I remember the day when I could hardly induce
you to enter it! I just had to _pull_ you in, and you disputed every
inch of the way!"
"That's the way with me," returned Cynthia. "I'm not quick about going
into things, but once I'm _in_, you can't get me out! And nothing I ever
knew of has made me feel as this house has. Now I'm going to light the
candles in the locked-up room."
"That's the one thing _I_ can't understand!" protested Joyce, as they
climbed the tiny stairs once more. "You seem perfectly crazy about that
room, and it makes me so--so _depressed_ that I hate to go near it! I
like the library and the picture of the Lovely Lady best."
[Illustration: There was nothing to do but sit and enjoy the spectacle]
Cynthia did not reply to this but lit the candles and gave a last look
about. Then they returned to the drawing-room. As there was nothing
further to do but sit and enjoy the spectacle, the two girls cuddled
down on a roomy old couch or sofa, and watched with all the fascination
that one watches the soft illumination of a Christmas-tree. Sometimes
they talked in low voices, commenting on the scene, then they would be
silent for a long period, simply drinking it in and trying to photograph
it forever on their memories. Joyce frankly and openly enjoyed it all,
but Cynthia seemed nervous and restless. She began at length to wriggle
about, got up twice and walked around restlessly, and looked at her
watch again and again.
"I wonder how long these candles will last?" questioned Joyce, glancing
at her own timepiece. "They aren't a third gone yet. Oh, I could sit
here and look at this for hours! It's all so different from anything
we've ever seen."
"_What's that!_" exclaimed Cynthia, suddenly and Joyce straightened up
to listen more intently.
"I don't hear anything. What _is_ the matter with you to-day, Cynthia
Sprague?"
"I don't know. I'm nervous, I guess!"
"There-- I _did_ hear something!" It was Joyce who spoke. "The queerest
_click_! Good gracious, Cynthia! Just suppose somebody should take it
into his head to get in here to-day! Of _all_ times! And find this going
on!" But Cynthia was not listening to Joyce. She was straining her ears
in another direction.
"There it is again! Somebody is at that front door!" cried Joyce. "I
believe they must have seen these lights through some chink in the
boarding and are breaking in to find out what's the matter! Perhaps they
think--"
_Cr-r-r-rack!_-- Something gave with a long, resounding noise, and the
two girls clasped each other in an agony of terror. It came from the
front door, there was no shadow of doubt, and somebody had just
succeeded in opening the little door in the boarding. There was still
the big main door to pass.
"Come!--quick!--quick!" whispered Joyce. "It will _never_ do for us to
be found here. We might be arrested for trespassing! Let's slip down
cellar and out through the window, and perhaps we can get away without
being seen. Never mind the candles! They'll never know who put them
there!-- Hurry!" She clutched at Cynthia, expecting instant
acquiescence. But, to her amazement, Cynthia stood firm, and boldly
declared:
"No, Joyce, I'm not going to run away! Even if we got out without being
seen, they'd be sure to discover us sooner or later. We've left enough
of our things around for that. I'm going to meet whoever it is, and tell
them we haven't done any real harm,--and so must you!"
All during this speech they could hear the rattle of some one working at
the lock of the main door. And a second after Cynthia finished, it
yielded with another loud crack. Next, footsteps were heard in the hall.
By this time, Joyce was so paralyzed with fright that she could scarcely
move a limb, and speech had entirely deserted her. They were caught as
in a trap! There was no escape now. It was a horrible position.
Cynthia, however, pulled her to her feet.
"Come!" she ordered. "We'd better meet them and face it out!" Joyce
could only marvel at her astonishing coolness, who had always been the
most timid and terror-ridden of mortals.
At this instant, the drawing-room door was pushed open!