"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, enigmatically.
She walked with him to the door.
"What a day it has been," she laughed, catching her breath. "I feel as though it had been weeks ago that we started off! I've forgotten how wet we were," she pulled at her blouse. "Run away now, Peter, for I must break the wonderful news to Aunt Milly and B'lindy, and, as B'lindy would say—"there's a pile of work's got to be done!"
"Nancy, the day isn't over yet!" Peter hesitated. "There's going to be a gorgeous sunset to-night—won't you come into the orchard—just for a little while?"