But if my wish were right and power, you would be here to-night, under the shadow of the acacia boughs--in my arms! "Any time you feel like coming back you will be welcome, Dear.
"Yours, Ross." "Any time she felt like coming back?
Diantha slipped down in a little heap by the bed, her face on the letter--her arms spread wide.

The letter grew wetter and wetter, and her shoulders shook from time to time.
But the hands were tight-clenched, and if you had been near enough you might have heard a dogged repetition, monotonous as a Tibetan prayer mill: "It is right.

It is right.

It is right." And then.

"Help me--please! I need it." Diantha was not "gifted in prayer." When Mr.Porne came home that night he found the wifely smile which is supposed to greet all returning husbands quite genuinely in evidence.