Miss Matthews waved her away. "You go and write to Diana and mail it to-night, and then come back and keep me company. I'm afraid of the storm."
It was at that very moment that Anthony was also writing to Diana. When he had left Bettina he had gone straight to Harbor Light and into a little inner office where he was guarded from all intruders by the assistant who sat in the anteroom. Not even a telephone could sound its insistent note in this place where the doctor gained, in a reclining chair, his few brief moments of rest, or where he worked out the intricacies of perplexing problems. Now and then he saw a patient there, but rarely. Usually he shut his door against all distracting influences, and gave his attention to the things which concerned himself alone.
What Sophie had told him about Diana had sent his thoughts flying to the wonder-woman up there in the woods. Even when he had talked to Bettina he had felt the consciousness of his thought of her.
Out of a full heart he wrote, holding back nothing, and when he had sealed and stamped his bulky missive, he, like Bettina, went forth to mail it.
As he passed through the garden a sudden gust of wind scattered a shower of rose petals in his path. That there were storms in the distance was evidenced by the low rumble of thunder and the vivid flashes of light.
It was on nights like this that his patients grew restless—poor abnormal things they were, afraid of life, afraid of death, seeing in wind and rain and in the battle of the elements the terrors of the supernatural.
But the night fitted in with Anthony's mood. He still wore his white linen office coat. His hat was off, and his gray hair was blown back from his forehead. The salt air exhilarated him. He felt a sudden lightness of heart. He wanted to shout like a boy. He had been grave for so long—but now his message had gone forth to Diana—to-morrow she would read it, and in two short days the answer would come.
He made his way to the beach; the vivid flashes showed the heaving blackness of the waters—the waves came in with a sullen roar.
He thought of the night when he had stood there with Diana, and when the moon had made a silver track. To-night there was no light—except Minot's—like a star. "I-love-you," it said to the lonely man who stood there in the darkness.
From somewhere in the garden a voice called him, then a nurse came running.