Her dearest friend, whose heart seemed the most solid and richest of Hilda's possessions, had no existence for her any more; and in that dreary void, out of which Miriam had disappeared, the substance, the truth, the integrity of life, the motives of effort, the joy of success, had departed along with her.
It was long past noon, when a step came up the staircase.

It had passed beyond the limits where there was communication with the lower regions of the palace, and was mounting the successive flights which led only to Hilda's precincts.

Faint as the tread was, she heard and recognized it.
It startled her into sudden life.

Her first impulse was to spring to the door of the studio, and fasten it with lock and bolt.

But a second thought made her feel that this would be an unworthy cowardice, on her own part, and also that Miriam--only yesterday her closest friend had a right to be told, face to face, that thenceforth they must be forever strangers.
She heard Miriam pause, outside of the door.