Suddenly she remembered words of David's in his sermon on Christmas-eve. They came back to her as clearly as if they had that moment been spoken.
"Myrrh, in the Bible," David had said, "stands for other things besides death. We must not pause to do so now; but, sometime, at your leisure, look out each mention of myrrh. You will find it stands for love—love, of the sweetest, tenderest kind; love so complete, that it must bring with it self-abnegation, and a mingling of pain with its bliss."
Yes, David had said this. How suitable that to-night—of all nights—she should do as he had wished.
But, first, she went to the window, drew aside the curtains, and looked out.
Snow had ceased to fall. The sky was clear and cloudless. There was no moon; but, low on the horizon, shone one brilliant star.
It seemed to Diana, that at that very moment, from somewhere out on the ocean, David's eyes were also on that star. It brought him very near. It made his last prayer very real.
She leaned her head against the window frame, and watched it silently.
"Whether in life or in death," said David's quiet voice, "may we glorify our King, and be faithful followers of the star."
Then she drew the curtain close once more, found a Bible, took up the concordance, and went back to Uncle Falcon's chair to do as David had suggested.