"Good night, Diana.

Don't sit too long in the cold night air; and don't sit up for your father--there's no knowing when he may be home." The girl did not answer him.

She listened to the shutting of the door as it closed behind him, and then folded her arms upon the iron rail of the balcony, laid her head upon them, and wept silently.

Her life was very dreary, and it seemed to her as if the last hope which had sustained her against an unnatural despair had been taken away from her to-night.
Twelve o'clock sounded with a feeble little _carillon_ from one of the steeples, and still she sat with her head resting upon her folded arms.
Her eyes were quite dry by this time, for with her tears were very rare, and the passion which occasioned them must needs be intense.

The night air grew chill and damp; but although she shivered now and then beneath that creeping, penetrating cold which is peculiar to night air, she did not stir from her place in the balcony till she was startled by the opening of the door in the room behind her.
All was dark within, but Diana Paget was very familiar with the footstep that sounded on the carpetless floor.