She paused at the door of her room to read the words carved there long ago by Sister Constance:
And the Hills Shall Bring Peace
It was like someone speaking a welcome.
"Oh! it is all so dear," Joan murmured, "how could it ever have seemed dull!"
Flowers filled the vases, and there was a small, fragrant fire on the hearth—a mere thing of beauty, there was no need of it, for the windows were open to the gentle spring day.
Joan slipped into a loose gown and then stood in the middle of the room leisurely taking in the comfort and joy of every proof of love that she saw.
On the desk by the window lay a pile of unopened letters—she took them up. They were the letters from Doris and Nancy which had been returned from Chicago. Pitiful things that had been so hopefully sent forth only to come back like blighted hopes!
For a moment Joan contemplated throwing them all on the fire. She did not feel equal to re-living the past. It was only by laughing and singing that she could hold her own.
But on second thought she opened the first one—it was from Nancy.
"I better have all I can get to begin on," she reflected; "it will save time."