For a whole week they followed their usual program, nightly sending down a fresh note that they always later drew up, unclaimed. And as the days passed they became more and more alarmed. Something had certainly happened to Cecily. Of that they were sure, and their misgivings grew more keen with the passing time. "Can it be that she isn't there any more?" conjectured Marcia, suddenly, one day. "Perhaps Miss Benedict has sent her away!" This was a new and startling possibility. The more they contemplated it, the more depressed they grew. If that were the case, then, they might never see Cecily again, and the delightful and curious friendship would be ended forever. Their usual good spirits were quite subdued, and even their hearty appetites suffered somewhat, which worried Aunt Minerva not a little, though she attributed it to the heat. Finally, one night, precisely one week after the first unclaimed communication, they sent down the usual letter, begging Cecily, if possible, to let them know what was the matter. It seemed to both, during the interval they left it there, that they heard light, almost stealthy footsteps in the garden below. But neither felt certain about it. An hour later they drew up the string. Their own note was still attached to it at the bottom, but just above it they saw fastened a little scrap of paper, no bigger than a quarter of an ordinary note-sheet. Both girls started with delight. "Quick!" cried Marcia. "Cecily has answered at last! Oh, I'm so glad!" Janet unfastened it, her fingers trembling with excitement, and spread it out on the table. It was not in Cecily's handwriting, and contained but a few words. Both girls read it at a glance, and then stared into each other's eyes, half terror-stricken, half amazed. For this is what it said: Will you please come to the gate to-morrow morning at half-past nine? A. BENEDICT. CHAPTER IX FOR THE SAKE OF CECILY "What _can_ it mean?" muttered Janet. "What does she want of us?" "Why, it's perfectly plain," declared Marcia. "She has discovered that we have been trying to correspond with Cecily, and she's going to demand an explanation--probably warn us that we must stop it. Are you--afraid to go, Janet?" "Not I! Why should I be? Miss Benedict can't do or say a thing to harm _us_! But I _am_ anxious for poor little Cecily. I just hate to think we may have brought trouble on her." "Oh, I wish now we'd never suggested such a thing!" moaned Marcia. "We've just succeeded in making that poor little thing miserable, I suppose." "Well, we can only remember that we _meant_ to make her happy, and we _did_--for a while, at least," comforted Janet. "And what's more, I'm not going to worry about it another bit to-night. Maybe it's something entirely different, anyway."