One substantial result remained from Diana's confinement to the attic, and that was the discovery of the door into the room beyond. Miss Todd explored, and carried some of the dusty chairs out into the light of day. She was enough of a connoisseur to see at a glance that they were Chippendale, and extremely valuable. She had the rest of the furniture moved out and cleaned, then sent for a dealer in antiques to ask his opinion about it. He said it made his mouth water. "A set of ten Chippendale singles with two armchairs will fetch almost anything you like nowadays," he added. "The question is, to whom do they legally belong?" said Miss Todd. "I'm only the tenant here. I must tell my landlord." The owner of the Abbey, who had bought the property many years before from Mr. Seton, was a man with a fine sense of honour. Though, legally, the furniture in the forgotten attic might have been transferred to him with the house, he did not consider himself morally entitled to it. "It certainly belongs to the heirs-at-law of the late Mr. Seton," he declared. There was only one heir, or rather heiress-at-law, and that was Loveday. It was decided, therefore, to sell the furniture for her benefit. The collection included objects of great rarity, among them a genuine spinet and a beautifully inlaid bureau. At the present boom for antiques they would realize a very substantial sum, quite a windfall, indeed, for Loveday. "Will it be enough to send me to a horticultural college?" she asked Miss Todd. "Ample, my dear. It ought to bring you sufficient for a thoroughly good training in any career you want to take up." This was news indeed--so splendid that it seemed almost too good to be true. Hilary's essay, which, as everybody expected, easily won the prize, had indirectly made Loveday's fortune after all. "I bless the day when I was a prisoner in the attic," rejoiced Diana. "If I hadn't knocked that door in, the furniture might still have been lying there in the dust." "I wonder if _this_ was the discovery that gentleman wanted to tell Father about," surmised Loveday. Surprise came on surprise, for the very morning after this happy solution of Loveday's future, Diana received a telegram from Paris. Mr. Hewlitt had succeeded in getting three passages (thrown up at the last by a family who were taken ill with "flu" and unable to travel); he and Mrs. Hewlitt were crossing the channel post-haste, and Diana must start from school and meet them in Liverpool. Loveday helped her to pack her boxes. It was an excited, fluttered, tearful little Diana who clung to her at the last. "Sissie! I can't say 'Good-bye!' It's not 'good-bye' to _you_--only 'au revoir'." "We'll meet again some day, darling!"