“My dear child,” said Syra, soothingly, “don’t be offended. It was necessary to keep it quite a secret.”
“And therefore, I suppose, poor I must not even be present?”
“Oh, yes, Cæcilia, to be sure you may; and see all that you can,” replied Syra, laughing.
“Never mind about the seeing. But tell me, how will you be dressed? What have you to get ready?”
Syra gave her an exact description of the habit and veil, their color and form.
“How very interesting!” she said. “And what have you to do?”
The other, amused at her unwonted curiosity, described minutely the short ceremonial.
“Well now, one question more,” resumed the blind girl. “When and where is all this to be? You said I might come, so I must know the time and place.”
Syra told her it would be at the title of Pastor, at daybreak, on the third day from that. “But what has made you so inquisitive, dearest? I never saw you so before. I am afraid you are becoming quite worldly.”
“Never you mind,” replied Cæcilia, “if people choose to have secrets from me, I do not see why I should not have some of my own.”