"Yes," agreed Cecily; "but lately—I'm not so sure."
In the pause that followed, the girls glanced curiously about the darkened room, trying to realize that they were actually inside the mysterious house at last. It was a large, square room, furnished with heavy chairs and an old-fashioned bureau and bed. Every shutter was fastened and the slats tightly closed. Only the dimmest daylight filtered in. The effect was gloomy and depressing to the last degree. They wondered how Cecily had stood it so long.
"I'm going to ask Miss Benedict if we can't open these shutters," cried Janet, suddenly
"I'm going to ask Miss Benedict if we can't open these shutters," cried Janet, suddenly. "I should think you'd die of this gloom. It's really bad for you, Cecily!"
"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Cecily, in consternation. "I asked her once, when I first came, and she didn't like it at all! She said no, she preferred to have them shut, and I must not touch them."
"I don't care!" went on Janet, ruthlessly. "You weren't sick then. I'm sure she'd let you now!" And, true to her word, she turned to Miss Benedict, who entered at this moment, still bonneted and veiled.
"I believe Cecily has malaria, Miss Benedict," she began bravely, but with inward trepidation.