Rapidly I wrote down the correct key-letters, and underneath them a score of the cypher symbols, thus:

W O N F O R T O F O R A T E W O N F O R T Q W O T T U I J X I S V A Z P I H N X J X

Taking up the magic square I asked Betty to repeat the formula for uncoding.

"Find where the first key-letter occurs in the top row," said Betty glibly. "For example: W. Then follow that vertical column down until you reach the first letter of the cypher message; in this case: Q. Follow that horizontal line to the extreme left, and you will recover the initial letter of the original message, namely: T. _Da capo ad infinitum. Q. E. D._"

Together we worked out the first line of the cypher in the leather-bound book. The complete layout ran as follows:

W O N F O R T O F O R A T E W O N F O R T Q W O T T U I J X I S V A Z P I H N X J X T H A N E C O U R T A U G U S T T H I R D

"And so on, world without end," commented Betty. "You can imagine how like mad I worked once we were on the train and rushing Southward. For now I knew _why_ it was necessary to avoid entering that room, especially at this particular time of year."

The clocks were striking nine, and Chalmers wanted to drop in at "Powersthorp" on his way home. So he bade us good night, climbed into his car, and was off, the red star of his tail-light twinkling through the linden trees bordering upon the driveway. And I remained alone with Betty; only, for a long time, we did not speak; it was not necessary.

There is but a word to add. The walls of the library wing had sustained but little damage in the fire; consequently, the process of rebuilding and refitting was made so much the easier. The stained gla.s.s, of course, had been entirely destroyed, but for that there could be few regrets; all those Old Testament pictures had been scenes of hatred and violence and divine wrath. It were better that Little Hugh should never see them and so have his childish imagination darkened. They have been replaced by windows of a softer nature--green pastures and still water, the lilies and poppies of the Parsifal meadows on Good Friday morning, and the peace of the everlasting hills. No chance here for even the unwitting insertion of that terrible purple boss; indeed the grapes of wrath were no longer in existence, for Chalmers Warriner had taken pains to have every bit of the _disjecta membra_ of the old windows gathered up and buried in some inaccesible pit, its very location to remain forever hidden from human eyes.

To-day the library at "Hildebrand Hundred," exorcised of its dark spirit, is again our favorite living-room. The teakwood desk and the great swivel-chair were destroyed in the fire, and indeed all the old fittings and hangings have given way to bright and cheerful modern furnishings. As I sit at my desk, writing the final page of these memoirs, the sun lies warm and glowing upon the oaken floor, but there is no hidden menace in its beauty. The scent of roses floats through the open windows, and I can hear the clip of Betty's garden shears as she cuts off the perfumed coupons of her floral treasures; one by one the gorgeous blooms fall into the waiting basket; our dinner table must be resplendent to-night for Chalmers and Hilda, just back from their honeymoon journey, are coming to us for an intimate _partie carree_.

And in the middle distance stands Little Hugh, the breeze roughing up his sleek, black poll, his legs planted confidently wide apart, and his gaze traveling outward upon the fair, broad acres that some day will be all his own; my lawful son and heir, a true Hildebrand of "Hildebrand Hundred."

Truly, G.o.d is good and life is sweet.

THE END