"Let's we come out on the stoop!" she said. (The Misses Caddie never forgot that their father, the late lamented Cassius M. Caddie, had been a New York Merchant. They were only ten years old when he died, and their mother brought them back to her native Cyrus, but they said "stoop" for "porch" and "aquascutum" for "waterproof," as long as they lived.)
The sisters went out on the porch—I beg their pardon! the stoop!—and sat down on a bench at the side. It was a lovely evening; the air was full of peace and silence, broken now and then by a low call from some nesting bird. Miss Ruby sighed again.
"Sister," Miss Pearl spoke timidly; "could you feel to free your mind? You know that anything you might say would be sacred——"
"I know it well!" Miss Ruby touched her twin's shoulder lightly; it was in the nature of a caress; they had not been brought up to kiss.
"I will own this much to you, Sister, that never, in the course of my professional career, have I been so tempted to speak as I am this night."
She paused; Miss Pearl made a little sound expressive of sympathy and concern.
"It is not only," Miss Ruby went on, "the extra-ordinary nature of the message itself, though—well, Sister, you really never did!—but it is the feeling—" Miss Ruby glanced around her in the dusk and lowered her voice—"the feeling that the sanctity of the Office has been already violated."
"Sister Ruby! how could——"
"I feel it so to be! this much I can say, and will. Pearlie, the message was for Kitty Ross, from California. I delivered it by telephone as usual. 'Kitty,' I said, 'do not be alarmed; the message, though most unusual, is not otherwise than cheerful, if correctly transmitted, though of course at that distance it is impossible to be sure.' Then I gave her the words of the message——"
"Yes, Sister!" Miss Pearl's voice was tense with eagerness.