Janet dear:

I know you think I'm a wretch not to have written in so long! but honestly, things have been happening so fast that I don't have time to sit down and write you about one event before a brand-new one has taken place.

I've missed you horribly ever since you went back to Northam. It was a shame that you had to leave just after the grand clear-up of our mystery, for you've been missing some of the most wonderful parts—all the lovely things that have happened since.

I think I've already written you about some of the changes that have taken place in "Benedict's Folly." It's the most remarkable thing—the way Aunt Minerva has taken that place—Miss Benedict and all—completely under her wing! Miss Benedict (who, by the way, wants us both to call her Miss Alixe) seemed completely helpless for a while after the "great day," and turned to Aunt Minerva for pretty nearly everything,—principally advice! You can imagine how Aunt Minerva is enjoying herself! She just loves nothing better than managing people's affairs for them—if they want her to!

In the first place, Aunt Minerva advised her to get the house into livable condition, and find suitable servants, and get some modern clothes. And as poor Miss Alixe acted like a lost kitten in going about it, Aunt Minerva just took hold and managed the whole thing. And you'd never recognize our dilapidated old house of mystery now, it's so changed and so lovely. Miss Alixe has decided that now there is no further reason for her not using their large fortune, and everything must be the nicest possible—for Cecily's sake.

And Cecily!—what a darling she is! Of course we are simply inseparable. She has even begun to go to the high school with me, because Miss Alixe and Aunt Minerva have decided that it will be better for her than studying with a private tutor. She is the happiest thing I ever saw, and says she feels as if she were living in a fairy-story all the time! We are just longing for the Easter vacation to come, and your visit. Then we three can be together again in the good old way. Won't it be glorious?

But this is all aside from the other two big pieces of news I wanted to tell you. Almost from the beginning Aunt Minerva has been urging Miss Alixe to go to a first-class oculist and have her eyes examined. And at last, a few weeks ago, they went together, and what do you suppose is the result? He said that almost without a doubt her sight can be restored, with proper treatment and possibly a slight operation later. She began the treatment at once, and already her sight is much improved. She can stand a stronger light, and has those awful headaches less frequently. You see, it was years since she had had any advice about them, and they've made great strides in treatment of the eyes since then. They can almost do the impossible. We are all so happy about it!

And now for the last and biggest piece of news! Perhaps you are wondering what has become of Miss Alixe's mysterious and invisible older sister, and it is about her that I'm going to tell you. You will never in the world be able to guess what has happened.

Aunt Minerva insisted (again Aunt Minerva) that Miss Alixe must have one of the big alienists (that's what they call specialists in mental diseases, I've learned) see Miss Cornelia, the sister, and perhaps he could tell whether anything could be done for her. It took a long time to persuade Miss Alixe that there was any use in doing this, but at last she consented. I think she has always been very sensitive about that poor sister's losing her mind, and she never wanted any one to see her. Even after she had a number of servants in the house, she wouldn't let any one wait on Miss Cornelia but herself.

Well, the great doctor came and was there for hours and asked a terrific lot of questions—all about everything that had happened for years and years. He learned one thing that interested him more than anything else, he said. Do you remember the day last summer when we were there, sitting in the garden, and I played on my violin—how Miss Alixe came down in a great hurry and asked me to stop because it disturbed her sister? You may remember, too, that I was playing "TrÄumerei"—had played it twice? Well, she told the doctor that when Miss Cornelia heard that, she acted very much excited, cried, and twisted her hands and tried to speak. (She hasn't spoken an intelligible word since she had the "stroke.") Miss Alixe also told him how their favorite brother had played so much on the violin, particularly that same air.

He said this was a most hopeful sign—it indicated that conditions were now such that there was a possibility of her reason and memory and even speech being restored, provided they could touch just the right note of association.

After he had thought the matter over a long time he decided to try an experiment. And he selected me—little, insignificant me—to help! He had me come in and bring my violin and sit in the room with Miss Cornelia, a little behind her, so she would not notice me particularly. Then he had Miss Alixe and Cecily also sitting there in plain sight of her, just quietly sewing or reading and not paying any particular attention to any one. He and Aunt Minerva stayed outside, watching through the partly opened door.

It was the first time I had ever seen Miss Cornelia (except that time when the shutter blew open), and, Janet, she is magnificent looking—entirely different from what I had imagined! She is large and stately and imposing, with white hair like Miss Alixe's, piled under a lace cap, and great black eyes. She just sat there quietly knitting, and took no notice of any one. You would not have known that there was anything the matter with her, except that her face was almost expressionless—as if she wasn't thinking of anything at all. I can't describe it any other way.

Well, there we sat, and at a given signal from the doctor outside the door I was to begin—very, very quietly and softly—to play the "TrÄumerei." You can just imagine how nervous I was—so much depended on my doing just the right thing! My hands shook, and my knees shook, and my heart thumped, and I thought I should never be able even to hold the bow. It seemed an age before the doctor raised his hand as a signal, but when he did I tucked the violin under my chin and fairly prayed that I shouldn't make a failure of my part, anyway!

And I played the "TrÄumerei" through, the very best I could—and nothing happened. Miss Cornelia went right on knitting and never noticed it at all. Then the doctor made another signal, and I began it again. This time she laid down her knitting, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the back of the chair. And when I'd finished for the second time, what do you suppose happened?

She opened her eyes, looked over at Miss Alixe, and spoke, for the first time in nearly thirty years! And this is what she said, as simply and quietly as though all those thirty years had never elapsed:

"Sydney must have come in again; I hear him practising!"

Miss Alixe was so startled she looked ready to faint away. But she managed to say, "No, Cornelia, but I'll tell you all about it." Then the doctor in great excitement beckoned us all to come out of the room quickly and leave her alone with Miss Alixe. So we vanished, and the two were there together a long, long time. At last Miss Alixe sent for Cecily, and she was gone a long time, too.

When it was all over, the doctor said it was the most successful thing that had ever happened in all his experience. Miss Cornelia is completely restored to memory and speech. And after the first shock of learning all that had been blank to her for these past years, she rallied well, and is now resting and recuperating under the care of Miss Alixe and a trained nurse. She still finds it very hard to realize all the changes that have happened in those thirty years, and she grieves a great deal over the death of her brother, which seems very recent and terrible to her. But she is simply devoted to Cecily, and Cecily is growing almost as fond of her as she is of Miss Alixe. Next summer the whole family is going with us to spend two months in Northam (Aunt Minerva's[Pg 257]
[Pg 258]
[Pg 259] doings again!) because it is so lovely and restful there. And won't we have a wonderful summer together, Janet dear? I can hardly wait for the time to come!

Well, that is all the news I have to tell, and I guess you'll agree with me that it certainly is enough—and very satisfying!

One thing amuses me to pieces, Janet, every time I think of it. Do you remember how, when you first came to visit us last summer, I was explaining to you all I'd discovered about "Benedict's Folly" and flattering myself with the idea that I, or, rather, you and I, would work out the puzzle and solve the mystery—all by ourselves?

What little geese we were! A lot we did toward unraveling any of that tangle! Even father and Major Goodrich were way off the track. It took Aunt Minerva (the darling!) to walk right in and clear the whole thing up! Here's "Hurrah!" then, for Aunt Minerva! She certainly had the laugh on us!

However, I sometimes console myself with the thought that it was we (you and I) who first took an interest in that shuttered old house in the garden. If we hadn't—who knows?—we would probably never have met Cecily, and things would be just the same as ever there, and Miss Alixe wouldn't have—

But what's the use of going into all that! The "girl next door" is our own dearest friend now, and everything is all right.

I just looked out of the window and saw a light in Cecily's room. She's also writing to you to-night. We promised each other we both would. I'm growing sleepy now, so good-night and heaps of love.