noon
She had always been a listener rather than a talker , but now there was a balm in her very presence , a touch upon the spirit , like a cool hand on the brow . Yes ! She had found that rightful heritage of Peace and breathed it all around her , like warmth and light . Margaret came in with the noon mail , which she had collected from the box in the post-office . As she tossed the papers and letters on the bed , Isabelle noticed another of the oblong letters in the familiar handwriting from Panama ... `` Or is it that ? '' she asked herself for a moment , and then was ashamed . The smile , the clear look out of the deep eyes , the caressing hand that stroked her face , all said no , -- it was not that !