Aunt Minerva took off her silver-rimmed spectacles, wiped them excitedly, and put them on again.

"And she said she didn't know who the child was or why she was there? Well—I—never!" she exclaimed, adjusting them all awry.

Marcia had decided to tell her aunt all about it. And Janet had agreed with her that since Miss Benedict had spoken as she did, there could be no further occasion for secrecy. So that night they gave her an entire history of the affair, and found her a willing listener, interested and sympathetic beyond their wildest expectations.

"Why, Aunty, I didn't suppose you'd care much about it!" exclaimed Marcia, in surprise. "And here you are, nearly as excited over it as we've been."

"Why, who would not be?" said Miss Minerva. "It's precisely like a mystery in a book. I wasn't interested in the old place at first, because I was too busy and it seemed as if the people living there were such slack housekeepers. I haven't any sympathy with that. But what could she mean by that last remark? Not know who the child is—or why she's there! It's absurd! I can't believe it!"

"Well, that's what she said!" asserted Marcia, again. "And if any one ever heard of a bigger mystery, I'd like to know about it!"

Miss Minerva took up her mending again. "Then I don't see why she keeps the girl," she commented.

"She keeps her, I think, because she's getting sort of fond of her," reasoned Janet. "You can easily see that. Cecily said she was very good to her the night she was so ill. And then, too, it must have been a hard pull for her to go so far as to send for us to come in just because it might please Cecily."

"We must see that the child has the quinine, and it wouldn't hurt her to have a glass or two of currant jelly. Don't forget them when you go in to-morrow," Miss Minerva reminded them. "I'd like to have her here and nurse her myself and feed her up a bit. And that's another strange thing—why should that woman" (Miss Minerva invariably alluded to Miss Benedict as "that woman") "allow you to go in and visit the child, yet forbid her to visit you?"

"Don't ask us why," laughed Marcia. "We're as much in the dark as any one else. What I want to know is why did Miss Benedict allow Cecily to open her shutters to-day when she refused her a while ago. And why doesn't she open them over all the rest of the house?"

"Well, what I want to know," added Janet, "is why Cecily's mother should have sent her over here to the Benedicts' at all, when nobody knew her or claimed her. Whatever made her think of such a thing?"

"There are several explanations that might suit such a case," mused Miss Minerva. "Mrs. Marlowe might have been a married sister, or some more distant relative, who—"

"Then wouldn't Miss Benedict know about it—or at least suspect some such connection?" interrupted Marcia.

"That's true," acknowledged her aunt. "There must be some other explanation. What a puzzle!"

"What's more," added Janet, "I remember that Cecily told us this: when she first came, Miss Benedict questioned her all about herself—where she came from, and all that. And after Cecily had told her she never said a word, but just walked away, shaking her head."

Miss Minerva's mind suddenly took a new turn. "Didn't you say the child sent you a couple of gifts—little trinkets—not long ago? I'd like to see them."

"We've never worn them," said Marcia. "It just seemed as if we couldn't—she ought not to have given them away. And yet—I know just how she felt—she wanted to do something! I'll get them." She brought the box and laid it in her aunt's lap.

Miss Minerva examined the coral pendant first. "The dear little thing!" she murmured. "She must think a lot of you to have parted with this!" Then she laid it down and took up the bracelet. "Gracious!" she exclaimed immediately, letting it fall and then picking it up again. "Am I going crazy, or are my eyes deceiving me?" She turned it over and over.

"What's the matter?" cried both girls at once.

"Matter?" cried Miss Minerva. "Why, just this: that bracelet is exactly like one I've had put away for years!" The girls stared at her incredulously. "I'll get it this minute and prove it!" And she hurried out of the room.

While she was gone they examined the bracelet more closely than they had yet done. It consisted of two thin rims of silver, joined by silver filigree-work, a quarter of an inch wide. Here and there, at intervals in the filigree, and forming part of the pattern, were several strange characters, looking, as Marcia declared, like those on the receipt from a Chinese laundry. The workmanship was unusually delicate and beautiful.

In five minutes Miss Minerva was back, flushed and disheveled, from a hunt through several bureau-drawers and boxes.

"I couldn't find it at first," she panted. "In Northam I used to be able to lay my hand on anything I wanted, at an instant's notice, but in this apartment!" She heaved a resigned sigh and laid something beside the bracelet on the table.

It was the exact duplicate—in every last detail! Even the complicated characters were identical! The three stared at the trinkets in an expressive silence. Not for a moment could it be doubted that these two bracelets were once a pair. They were so unusual that it was impossible there could be others like them. This astonishing fact was patent to them all.

"Aunt Minerva, where did you get yours?" breathed Marcia, at last.

"Why, that's easily explained," answered Miss Brett. "Your father brought it to me about ten or twelve years ago, after one of his voyages. He said that a Chinese sailor in Hong-Kong had offered to sell it to him for a small sum, and seeing it was a rather unique little trinket, he bought it and brought it home to me. I never wear such things, however. Jewelry never did appeal to me, and bracelets, particularly, always seemed a nuisance. So I put it away intending to give it to you some day, Marcia. And after a while I actually forgot all about it—till to-night!"

Janet sat up very straight. "There's just one thing I'd give my head to know—this minute! Where did Cecily get her bracelet?"

"Well, that you can easily find out—but I'm afraid you'll have to wait till to-morrow morning!" laughed Marcia.

"There's something very strange about this," marveled Miss Minerva, turning the two trinkets over and over. "Actually, I can hardly tell now which is mine and which hers, except that mine is a little more tarnished from having been laid away. Your father said, when he gave me mine, that he'd never seen anything like it in any of those foreign jewelry-shops and that was why he'd been specially attracted to it."

"Aunty," said Marcia, suddenly, "where do you suppose that sailor got it?"

"Your father said," replied Miss Minerva, "that he'd probably stolen it, or somebody else had. It may have passed through dozens of hands after it was taken from the original owner. You never can tell about such things in the East, and it's useless to inquire."

Again they all stared hard at the two silver trinkets, lying side by side on the table.

"And these two bracelets once belonged to the same person," murmured Marcia, at last; "perhaps to some one connected with Cecily. And to think they should have drifted halfway around the world to find themselves side by side again in busy, practical New York!"