The first reference to which she turned, chanced to be the thirteenth verse of the first chapter of the Book of Canticles—divinest love-poem ever written.
Bending over it, in the firelight, Diana read the opening words.
"A bundle of myrrh is my well-belovèd unto me——"
Then, suddenly, her eyes dilated. She pressed her hands against her breast.
Then she bent over, and finished the verse; reading each word slowly, to the very last.
"David! David! David!"
A bundle of myrrh is my well-belovèd unto me! Oh, David, speeding each moment farther and farther away, on life's relentless ocean; hastening to that distant land "that is very far off," from which there is no return!
She lay back in the chair; opened her arms wide; then closed them—on nothingness.