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: [Illustration: "Sydney must have come in again; I hear him practising!"] "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 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?