"He did come back, three weeks later," Miss Milly went on, "and there was a scene much worse than the night of the storm. They forgot I was in the room. My father accused my brother of stealing the wallet and refused to let him say a word. 'I want no lies added to your other sins,' was what he said--I can hear him now. And my brother looked as though something had struck him. Then my father told him that if he'd take himself off and never darken the doors of Happy House again, nor communicate with his family in any way, the matter would be dropped forever--for the sake of the Leavitt name. My brother stood there for a moment; I remember, I wanted to run to him! Oh, I've wished I _had_--so often! But I was afraid of Sabrina--and my father. And then my brother turned and walked out of the room--and out of the door--and--down the path--and----" Poor Miss Milly, worn out by the excitement of the day, began to cry softly. Nancy had to jerk herself to break the spell of the story. Her face wrinkled in a frown. "It--is--dreadful, isn't it, Aunt Milly? I don't mean his spending money and running debts and things, I mean--your--your father's horrid--_mercilessness_! Why, the courts don't treat the worst criminals like that! And they call it Leavitt pride--and honor! _I_ call it injustice. I wish you _had_ just run up and kissed him, then. It might have made everything so different!" "So _that's_ why I can't speak of Anne's father or grandfather," Nancy was thinking back of her frown. "And that's why Anne knew so little about her aunts!" Then aloud: "I'm glad you told me, Aunt Milly. It'll help us--be pals. We'll have other afternoons--like to-day--out in the sunshine. But now you must rest. And I'll get ready to face Aunt Sabrina!" "She'll be dreadfully cross," sighed Miss Milly, with the glow all gone from her face. "I'm not a bit afraid," and Nancy meant it, for within her breast smouldered such righteous indignation at Miss Sabrina and her precious ancestors that she welcomed the challenge. Dressing hurriedly for supper Nancy's eye caught the letter to Claire lying on her bureau. It seemed to her as though hours and hours had passed since she had so flippantly bade Claire "pray for me!" She wanted to open the letter and dash off another page to tell Claire of all that had happened and how the "mystery" was a mystery no longer. Then, with the envelope in her hand, she remembered that it concerned Aunt's grandfather and that, perhaps, _she_ had no right to tell! But she did open the sheet and scribble across the top: "All sorts of things have happened since I wrote this, and I may be back with you any moment. I can't tell you yet all about it, but I can say this, that I hate Happy House and I'm glad as can be that I'm only a pretend Real-Leavitt! Everybody isn't horrid, though, that nice old Webb built the cosiest seat up in my tree and surprised me."