An inventory meant that every box was looked into, every cupboard
opened. What chance then had her purse in its tin box in a forgotten
cupboard? That cupboard would be opened at last, and her treasure
stolen away. Aunt Lydia was even now in the attics, or was she? Was
there any hope that Cecile might be in time to rescue the precious
purse?
She flew up the attic stairs, her heart beating, her head giddy. Oh!
if she might be in time!
Alas! she was not. Aunt Lydia was already in full possession of
Cecile's and Maurice's attic. She was standing on tiptoe, and taking
down some musty books from a shelf.
"Go away, Cecile," she said to the little girl, "I'm very busy, and
I can't have you here; run out at once."
"Please, Aunt Lydia, I've such a bad headache," answered poor
Cecile. This was true, for her agitation was so great she felt almost
sick. "May I lie down on my bed?" she pleaded.
"Oh, yes, child! if your head is bad. But you won't get much quiet
here, for Jane and I have our work cut out for us, and there'll be
plenty of noise."
"I don't mind a noise, if I may lie down," answered Cecile thankfully.
She crept into her bed, and lay as if she was asleep. In reality,
with every nerve strung to the highest tension, sleep was as
impossible for her as though such a boon had never been granted to
the world. Whenever Aunt Lydia's back was turned, her eyes were
opened wide. Whenever Aunt Lydia looked in her direction, the poor
little creature had to feign the sleep which was so far away.
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