nd then Sara came in--a subdued Sara, with much of
her sharpness modified, and they had dinner together, and were served by
the adoring Delia.

After dinner Diana grew restless, and, wandering alone in the garden,
found her feet straying in the direction of Anthony's house on the
rocks.

Peter Pan followed her, and waited for her when she went in, having
learned caution from his last imprisonment.

Diana knew where the key was kept, and felt for it behind a cornice. She
let herself in and shut the door behind her. The lights from the street
lamps showed that some pieces of furniture had been placed since her
last visit. There were rugs beneath her feet. On the table in the hall
was the end of a candle in a quaint silver holder, and a cup contained
matches.

She lighted the candle, and made a tour of the lower floor. In the
living-room she set two big chairs side by side on the hearth and
laughed a little, fancying her head and Anthony's close together. In the
dining-room were treasures of china--the White Canton in unchipped
dozens. She set two places on the polished table, and drank Anthony's
health in a mystical cup of tea.

She ascended the stairs. There were massive beds and massive highboys
and lowboys and tables and chairs everywhere, but in the room to which
she had brought the lilacs there was nothing but a little old-fashioned
piano, and the gray pottery bowl which had held her flowers. Evidently
Anthony had changed his plans, and this place which he had dedicated to
her was to be used simply as a sitting-room or music room for Bettina.

The candle flared and went out. Diana sat down on the old-fashioned
round stool in front of the little piano. Anthony's mother had played on
that little piano. It had been his father's gift to his bride.

With her hands resting on the keys she sat and looked out over her
beloved harbor.

There was a little silver moon--Diana's moon, the crescent of the
huntress.

Well, it was Diana's night! Her fingers struck softly the chords of the
music she had created.

[Illustration: Music score]

On the other side of the street, a tired man, coming out of a house
where a sick woman had needed his services, halted and held up his head.

He crossed the road and entered the house.

The rugs deadened the sound of his steps. He stopped on the threshold of
that upper room. He could see the faint outlines of the tall white
figure; he knew the voice, the song.

"Diana, my dear