In her modish frock of gray linen, with a parasol of leaf green, she seemed to merge gradually into the grayness and greenness of the forest beyond. She might have been a dryad returning to her tree, or as an artist in the group on the porch remarked, "a nymph in a Corot setting."
How still it was in the forest! Even the birds seemed to respect the silences, and slipped from branch to branch like shadows. The squirrels, flattened heads downward against gray tree trunks, whisked up and out of sight as the intruder advanced. A strayed butterfly went by in a wavering flight, seeking the sunshine and the flowers of the open fields.
Diana loved the forest, but more than all she loved the sea. She missed the wild music of the waves and wind. The hills seemed to shut her in; she wanted the wide spaces, the limitless expanse of blue—she wanted the harbor with its many lights.
Yet if Anthony married Betty it would be years before she would dare go back. His work was there, and he must stay; she would be exiled from the place she loved.
Her steps quickened as if she would fly from the thought. She passed again beyond the edge of the arching trees, and came upon a winding road. Its last curve brought her to a little settlement of which the store, which was also the post-office, was the most imposing building.
The postmistress knew her and had the package ready. "Lots of letters, two papers and a half dozen magazines," she said, cheerily. "I don't see how you find time to read so many."
"I have nothing to do but read. I am not a lucky busy person like yourself." Diana was smiling as she turned up the corners of each letter to glance at the one beneath.
On top was Sophie's daily budget, black-edged and bulky. Bettina's showed a faddish slender monogram. Following was Justin's—she knew that boyish scrawl; a business letter or two, a bill, an advertisement, and then—her heart leaped. On the flap of a great square envelope blazed the seal which Anthony had chosen for his house of healing—a lighthouse flashing its beacon over stormy waters.
The little postmistress wondered at the radiance which illumined the face of the lovely lady. Diana, in saying a hurried farewell, sparkled like a girl.
"You've given me such wonderful letters this morning," she said, breathlessly. "I must run away and read them."