aned down and picked up one of
the pieces. "Look, Peter, here are parts of the letters! See H-A-P.
It had been cracked by another lightning storm, you know, years and
years ago! Oh, I'm afraid it has been destroyed so that----" as she
spoke she searched in the debris on the floor for more of the carving.
Suddenly she cried out sharply and, straightening, held out an old,
worn, stained leather wallet. "Peter! B'lindy! _Aunt Sabrina!_"

Her cry brought Miss Sabrina, alarmed, running.

"It _must--be--the_--wallet!"

Now it was Sabrina who cried out--a protesting, frightened cry. For a
moment she staggered as though she was going to fall; Nancy's strong
arm went closely around her.

"Look quickly, dear Aunt Sabrina," Nancy implored.

With trembling fingers Aunt Sabrina opened it--within lay mouldy,
age-worn bank-notes--many of them!

"It must have fallen behind the mantel in that other storm," cried
Nancy. Then a great joy shone in her face. "He _didn't_ take
it--Anne's grandfather!" she stopped abruptly. But Miss Sabrina had
not even heard her, and Peter was too mystified by the whole thing to
think Nancy's words strange. Miss Sabrina turned, with a stricken face.

"Anne--I--I can't think! What--what--wrong--have I done? Oh, God
forgive me!" She threw her arms up over her head. Her grief was
terrible because it was strange. Even Nancy, frightened, drew away.

"Oh, God, give back the years----" she moaned.

"It--is--too--late." She lifted a white, frightened face. "I
must---be alone! Don't let anyone disturb me. Tell them, Anne--tell
them--everything!" And with the wallet in her hand she went quickly
but of the room.

Nancy turned to Peter, a triumph in her manner that was in strange
contrast to Miss Sabrina's sorrow. She held her hand out toward the
broken marble.

"_What_ a story!" she cried, "over two generations that ugly old mantel
concealed the vindication of a man's honor!" Then, laughing at Peter's
puzzled face, she told him briefly the story of the trouble that had
hung over Happy House shadowing and embittering the lives of those
beneath its roof.

"And, Peter, it has gone with the storm! Oh, you don't know what that
means!" she cried, because Peter _could_ not know that she did not
rejoice for herself, but because, now, there need be no barriers
between Happy House and her own dear Anne--the real Anne Leavitt.

"After awhile--it _will_ be Happy House," she ended, enigmatica