s sure
that if she told her relatives about going they'd stop her. And that
seemed, then, the only important thing--neither of us thought of the
wrong we'd be doing the people--here. It seemed, too, a very little
thing for me to do for her. But I just can't bear to have _you_ hate
me!" For a moment she held her pencil over the last words, then
hastily sealed the letter and addressed it.

The last paragraph stayed in her mind. "How _silly_ we were, Anne,"
she said aloud, mentally arraigning those two very young creatures of
college days.

Her confession made, a load rolled from Nancy's heart. "Anyway, he'll
know the truth," was her soothing thought as she crawled into bed. In
the morning she would tell Aunt Sabrina.

But Nancy's first waking thought--at a very late hour, for her
over-tired body had taken its due in sound sleep--was that she was
very, very unhappy. As she dressed, with trembling haste, she wondered
if she had not better plan to catch the afternoon train at North Hero.

She sought out Jonathan first and despatched him with her letter, then
walked slowly back into the house to face Aunt Sabrina.

On the newel post of the stairs were letters that Jonathan had just
brought up from the post-office. One was addressed to her in Anne's
familiar handwriting and was postmarked New York!

As though she had been struck, Nancy dropped down on the stairs.

Anne's valiant spirit of sacrifice and service had given way to
complaint.

"All these weeks cooped up in a little room in London waiting for
further orders, only to have them _dare_ to tell me--after all the
encouragement I'd had--that I was too young and inexperienced to go on
into Russia, and that I could be of greater service in organization
work back home. Think of it, Nancy! And then shipping me back as
though I was a little child. I have worn myself out with
disappointment, rage and disgust. I came here to your rooms and slept
last night in your bed (as much as any one could sleep with the
Finnegan baby cutting a tooth downstairs) and I shall stay here until I
can calm down enough to make some definite plans.

"... You've been a dear, Nancy, and I've been quite curious to know how
you've gotten on. I never dreamed you'd stay so long! And now I must
ask you to stay just a little longer, until I know what I want to do.
Under no circumstances let my aunt know the truth...."

Nancy read the letter three times--she could scarcely believe