"You ought not go out this morning, Marcia," remarked Miss Minerva, anxiously. "The sun is very hot, and you look as if you had a headache."
"Oh, no, I haven't, Aunty!" cried Marcia, eagerly, fearful of a hitch in their plans. "I didn't sleep very well, but a walk in the fresh air will do me good, I know." And so Miss Minerva saw them go, without further protest.
They both halted at the gate in the brick wall and looked into each other's eyes. The hot morning sun beat down upon them as they stood there, and passers-by eyed them curiously. Each was perfectly certain that the thumping of her heart could be heard. And still they stood, hesitating.
"You're afraid!" accused Janet.
"I'm—not!" protested Marcia. "And I'll prove it!" She raised her hand suddenly—and pulled the rusty bell-handle.
It seemed a long, long time before there was any response. But at last they heard the click of the opening front door and the sound of footsteps on the path. This was followed by the creaking of a key turning in the lock of the gate. Janet gripped Marcia by the hand, and with pounding hearts they stood together, while the gate slowly opened. In another instant, the veiled, black-gowned figure of Miss Benedict stood before them. She waited a moment, silent, appearing to look them over critically.
"Come in, if you please!" she said at last, very softly, and held the gate open for them. They entered obediently, and she shut the gate. It was not until they were inside the house, standing in the dim hall with the front door closed behind them, that another word was spoken. Then Miss Benedict faced them again, but she did not remove her bonnet or throw back her veil.
"I have asked you to come here this morning," she began, "because I understand that you have become acquainted with the child Cecily Marlowe."
Cold chills ran up and down their spines. It had come at last! "Yes," faltered Janet, "we—we have become acquainted with her." It was not a brilliant reply, but, for the life of her, she could think of nothing else to say. They waited, shuddering, for what might be coming next.