For two days thereafter they maintained a constant, but fruitless, vigil over "Benedict's Folly." Cecily did not appear, either at her window or on a marketing expedition. Neither was there any sound of her footsteps in the garden at night.
The girls began to worry. Could it be that Miss Benedict had discovered the truth about the remedy for her sprained ankle and had, perhaps, shut Cecily up in close confinement, or even sent her away altogether? They were by this time at a loss as to just what to think of that mysterious lady.
On the third afternoon, however, to their intense relief, they saw Cecily emerge from the house and walk toward the gate, with the market-basket on her arm. It took them just about a minute and a half to reach the street.
Cecily came abreast of their own door-step in due time, her eyes cast down as usual; but they were waiting in the vestibule, and she did not see them.
She was well in advance, but still in sight, when they came down the steps and strolled in the same direction. It was not till they had turned the corner that they raced after her, and at last, breathless, caught up with her.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a little start; "I—I did not expect to see you to-day. I—you mustn't come with me!" In spite of her words, however, it was evident that she was really delighted by their unexpected appearance.
"Look here, Cecily," began Marcia, "why can't we join you when you go to market or are doing your errands?"
"Oh, that would be lovely!" answered Cecily—"only Miss Benedict usually asks me when I come in whether I have met or spoken to any one, and—I can't tell what isn't true!"