storage warehouse?

"Homeless, penniless, and alone?" he murmured, crushing back into his
breast a sob that arose to his throat.

Then suddenly his glance fell upon the table beside him and rested
upon the letter that Mr. Clayton had given to him, and which, in the
exciting occurrences of the last hour, he had entirely forgotten.

He took it up and sighed heavily again as the faint odor of Anna's
favorite perfume was wafted to his nostrils.

"How changed is everything since she wrote this!--what a complete
revolution in one's life a few hours can make!" he mused.

He broke the seal with some curiosity, but with something of awe as
well, for it seemed to him almost like a message from the other world,
and drew forth two sheets of closely-written paper.

The missive was not addressed to any one; the writer had simply begun
what she had to say and told her story through to the end, and then
signed her name in full in a clear, bold hand.

The man had not read half the first page before his manner betrayed
that its contents were of the most vital importance.

On and on he read, his face expressing various emotions until by the
time he reached the end there was an eagerness in his manner, a gleam
of animation in his eyes which told that the communication had been of
a nature to entirely change the current of his thoughts and distract
them from everything of an unpleasant character regarding himself.

He folded and returned the letter to its envelope with trembling
hands.

"Oh, Anna! Anna!" he murmured, "why could you not have been always
governed by your better impulses, instead of yielding so weakly to the
evil in your nature? This makes my way plain at least--now I am ready
to bid farewell to this home and all that is behind me, and try to
fathom what the future holds for me."

He carefully put the letter away into an inner pocket, then sat down
to his desk and began to look over his private papers.

When that task was completed he ordered the butler to have some boxes
and packing cases, that were stored in the cellar, brought up to the
library, when he carefully packed away such books, pictures and other
things as he wished to take away with him.

It was not an easy task, and he could almost as readily have committed
them to the flames as to have despoiled that beautiful home of what,
for so long, had made it so dear and attractive to him.

When his work was completed he went out, slipped over into Boylston