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."

And she did run, literally, when she had passed beyond the limits of the
village. Holding up her narrow skirt, her parasol under her arm, her
precious burden of mail hugged tightly, she left the path, and again
entered upon the enchanted forest.

She knew of a place where she would read Anthony's letter, a warm little
hollow, with a still silver pool beyond, a pool which, with its
upstanding reeds and rushes, was merged at its farthest edge into a
blurred purple background.

Safe at last in her retreat she opened Anthony's letter, forgetting the
others in her eagerness, seeing only the firm, simple script which
crowded a dozen pages.

He began quietly, but evidently, as he wrote, Anthony had been swayed by
emotions which had mastered him, and he had written with fire and
intensity, and, as she read, her heart responded tremulously:

"DEAR DIANA:

"Sophie has told me of your plan--your wonderful plan which has to do
with my work and with me, and which shall link our futures in an
interest which shall be above reproach.

"It was like you to think of it, and I shall not try to thank you.
Indeed you will not want my thanks. You and I are beyond conventional
concealments, and you know, as I know, that the thing which you are
doing is for your own happiness as well as fo