THE MEDDLING OF CYNTHIA
To Joyce, the moment that the drawing-room door was pushed open will
always seem, with perhaps one exception, the most intense of all her
life. She fully expected to see a man stride in--more likely half a
dozen!--and demand the meaning of the unwarrantable intrusion and
illumination. Instead of that, the slight figure of a woman dressed all
in black, and with a long heavy dark veil over her face, stepped into
the room!
For a moment she paused, surprised, uncertain, almost trembling. Then,
with a firm movement, she threw back her veil, and, in the soft light of
the candles, stood revealed. Joyce gave a tiny gasp. In all her life she
had never seen so beautiful an old lady. Masses of soft wavy white hair
framed a face of singular charm, despite its age, and the biggest,
saddest brown eyes in all the world, looked out inquiringly on the two
girls. There was complete silence. The three could hear each other
breathe. Then the newcomer spoke:
"Which of you two friends was it, may I ask, who sent me the letter?"
Her voice was sweet and low and soft, and as sad as her eyes. Joyce gave
a start and opened her lips to speak, but Cynthia was before her.
"_I did!_" she announced calmly. The lady turned to her.
"That was very lovely of you,--and very thoughtful. I began planning to
come soon after I received it, and tried to arrive at about the time you
mentioned. But I do not quite understand all--all this!" She glanced
toward the burning candles. "And I'm afraid I do not understand how
you--how you came to be in here!"
"Oh," began Cynthia, stumblingly, "I--I couldn't quite explain it all
in a letter--and I didn't even know you'd pay any attention to what I
wrote, anyway. But we'll tell you all about it right now, if you care
to hear." A light was beginning to dawn on the bewildered Joyce.
Suddenly she sprang forward and seized the lady's hand.
"Tell me--oh, please tell me," she cried, "_are_ you Mrs. Collingwood?"
"Yes, my dear!" said the lady.
And to the amazement of every one Joyce broke down and began to sob
hysterically, exclaiming, "Oh, I'm so glad--so glad!" between every
other sob.
"I think I'll sit down," said Mrs. Collingwood, when Joyce had regained
control of herself. "I'm very tired--and very, very--bewildered!" She
sat down on the sofa, and drew each of the girls down beside her.
"Now tell me," she said to Cynthia. "Explain it all, and then show me
what you think will interest me so. You see, I have traveled many weary
miles to hear this strange story."
So Cynthia began at the beginning and told how they had first found
their way in, and had then become interested in unraveling the mystery
of the old house. Mrs. Collingwood listened with deep attention; but
when Cynthia reached the tale of the hidden stairway, she started in
surprise.
"Why, I never dreamed there was such a thing in the house!" she
exclaimed. "The rooms were re-papered once, but I was away when it was
done. None of us knew!"
"No, we thought you didn't," continued Cynthia. "And so we went into the
locked-up room. And there we found something,--oh!--Mrs. Collingwood! We
felt sure you had never seen it, and that you _ought_ to! You see, we
knew all the rest of the--the story, from Joyce's great-aunt, Lucia
Kenway. And we felt you _ought_ to see it,--at least _I_ felt that way,
and so I wrote you the letter. I didn't even tell Joyce I'd done it,
because--because I was afraid she'd think I was _meddling_ in what
didn't concern me! But I couldn't help it. I couldn't sleep nights till
I'd sent that letter, because it all haunted me so! I just sent it to
Chesterton, South Carolina, because that was all the address I knew. I
didn't even feel sure it would ever reach you.
"And I set a special date for you to get here on purpose, because--well,
because I thought we ought to be here to receive you, and have the place
look sort of--homelike. It would be terrible, seems to me, to come back
to a dark, deserted house that you'd left so long ago, and nobody here
to--to welcome you. Well, that's all, I guess. But Mrs. Collingwood, I'm
so afraid we haven't done right,--that we meddled in what was no
business of ours, and trespassed in a house we should never have
entered! I only hope you can forgive us!" Thus ended Cynthia, brokenly,
and Mrs. Collingwood put out her hands to take a hand of each girl in
her clasp.
"You dear little meddlers!" she exclaimed. "This is all so astonishing
to me; but I feel sure, nevertheless, that you have done nothing but
good! And now will you--will you show me what you spoke of?"
Cynthia rose, handed her a lighted candle, and led her to the opening of
the little stairway in the library. "It's up these stairs, in the room
above--on the desk," she said. "You will find it all lit up there. And
I think that--you would rather go--alone!" Mrs. Collingwood took the
candle, and Cynthia helped her into the opening at the foot of the
stairs. Then she went back to Joyce.
When they were alone, the two girls stood staring at one another and
Cynthia's cheeks grew fiery red.
"I don't know what--what you must think of me, Joyce!" she stammered. "I
ought never to have done this, I suppose, without telling you."
"Why didn't you tell me?" demanded Joyce.
"Why, I was so afraid you'd think me silly and--and meddling, and you
mightn't approve of it. I was unhappy,--I--somehow felt as though I'd
committed a crime, and the only way to right it was this!"
"How long ago did you send your letter?" asked Joyce, presently.
Cynthia considered. "I think I posted it a week ago Thursday."
"And you knew all the time, last night, that this was going to happen
to-day?" asked Joyce incredulously.
"Well, I sort of expected it,--that is, I really didn't know whether
she'd come or not. It made me dreadfully nervous, and that's the reason
I was so cross to you, Joyce, I suppose. Will you forgive me, now that
you know?"
"Why, of course!" said Joyce. Then, suddenly, "But, oh!-- I _wish_ I'd
known this all at the time!"
"What for? What difference would it have made?" demanded Cynthia.
But Joyce only replied: "Hush! Is that Mrs. Collingwood coming down?"