The ridge of a distant
woodland was deeply golden, the rolling meadow lands of clover beyond
the river bright with iridescent dew. But the storm had left its trail
of broken rush and grasses and the heavy boughs of the woodland dripped
forgotten rain.
A girl presently emerged from the trees by the river and swung lightly
up the forest path, her scarlet sweater a vivid patch in the lesser
life and color all about her.
[Illustration: Diane swung lightly up the forest path.]
"Surely," she exclaimed, meeting Philip's glance with one of frank and
very pleasant concern, "surely you must be very weak! Why not stay in
bed and let Johnny bring your breakfast to you?"
"Lord, no!" protested Philip, reddening. "I feel ever so much better
than I look."
"I'm glad of that," said Diane, smiling. "You lost a lot of blood and
bumped your head dreadfully on a jagged rock. Would you mind," her
wonderful black eyes met his in a glance of frank inquiry, "would you
mind--explaining? There was so much excitement and storm last night
that we haven't the slightest notion what happened."
"Neither have I!" exclaimed Philip ruefully.
The girl's eyes widened.
"How very singular!" she said.
"It is indeed!" admitted Philip.
"You must be an exceedingly hapless young man!" she commented with
serious disapproval.
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