"Why, I don't know--I just feel horrid most of the time. My head aches a lot, and every once in a while I'm awfully cold, and then I seem to be burning up--" "Why, I believe you must have malaria!" interrupted Marcia. "That's what Aunt Minerva has sometimes. You ought to go out more, and have fresh air and--sunshine--" She stopped suddenly, remembering the conditions. "But anyway, it isn't serious," she hurried on, after an embarrassed pause. "And you ought to have some quinine. I wonder if Miss Benedict would let us get it for you. I'll ask her, later." Then they hurried on to tell her how they had continued to send down a note every night, hoping that she would get it, and how they had feared that she might have gone away. And Cecily, in return, told them how she had enjoyed the notes and gifts, but how guilty she had always felt about receiving them, especially when she had answered them. "And I finished embroidering the boudoir-cap," she ended, "and--and I gave it to Miss Benedict." "You _did_?" they both gasped. "Oh, I _hope_ you don't mind!" exclaimed Cecily, hastily; "but--but I felt as if I wanted to _do_ something for her. She--I--I think I'm getting to like her--more and more." "What did she say?" asked Marcia. "Was she pleased? I can't imagine her wearing such a thing." "She looked at it and then at me--very strangely for a minute. Then she said: 'Thank you, child. I--I never wear such things, but I'll keep it--for your sake!'" "Isn't that queer!" exclaimed Janet. "You thought she cared nothing about you!" "Yes," agreed Cecily; "but lately--I'm not so sure." In the pause that followed, the girls glanced curiously about the darkened room, trying to realize that they were actually inside the mysterious house at last. It was a large, square room, furnished with heavy chairs and an old-fashioned bureau and bed. Every shutter was fastened and the slats tightly closed. Only the dimmest daylight filtered in. The effect was gloomy and depressing to the last degree. They wondered how Cecily had stood it so long. [Illustration: "I'm going to ask Miss Benedict if we can't open these shutters," cried Janet, suddenly] "I'm going to ask Miss Benedict if we can't open these shutters," cried Janet, suddenly. "I should think you'd die of this gloom. It's really bad for you, Cecily!" "Oh, don't!" exclaimed Cecily, in consternation. "I asked her once, when I first came, and she didn't like it at all! She said no, she preferred to have them shut, and I must not touch them." "I don't care!" went on Janet, ruthlessly. "You weren't sick then. I'm sure she'd let you now!" And, true to her word, she turned to Miss Benedict, who entered at this moment, still bonneted and veiled. "I believe Cecily has malaria, Miss Benedict," she began bravely, but with inward trepidation. "Oh, do you think so? Is it serious?" The melodious voice sounded startled and concerned.